Ten Minutes

Slivers of plastic from the synthetic picnic table were digging their way into my forehead, no doubt leaving an imprint that my limited time would be unable to erase. Beyond my closed eyelids I could hear trucks and construction equipment shoveling earth near by. I could hear the mutterings of adult conversation not intended to be shared and I could feel the high pitched screams of children, intermittently interrupted by the thumping of sneakered footsteps bounding across the cork floor of the playground. This was my favorite place to come in the afternoon, when the florescent lights and droning computer monitor, magnified by the incessant buzzing of the door bell became too much and I needed a break to reset. It has been too stick this summer to really enjoy the playground but this brief reprieve from the normal temperatures of a Missouri August made a trip to the park more of a necessity than a perk. The children playing on the jungle gym made me giggle and for a moment I wished they would all leave so I could play fairy princess off the balustrade the I had before deadlines and overdraft fees and utility bills. The days when I never imagined a world without time for play. Maybe that is why I am an artist, so I never have to give up pretend. And even if all my adventures are limited by schedule or responsibility, they are there in my imagination, waiting for a few brief moments at a picnic table on a playground, nestled in the shade of an old oak tree, for the chance to come alive.