Yesterday, the park burned. Not in flames, not with lava, or by some searing force, but by laughter. Laughter, the kind that comes from the bottom of the soul, the kind that happens spontaneously as you run quickly, or as someone you love looks at you and reaches for you and you dodge them, or the kind that happens when you are just damn happy. Damn, happy.
The park, then, was a miserable place. As I took my walk, the sun mocked me with its rays, whined in my ears with its brightness, and followed me into every shadow where I ducked. And, there was always that laughter, that screech of children, that deep chuckle of self righteous adults and, interspersed, the noise of women shrieking happy words. It was nearly enough to deafen me and I wished that it did, except, I could not think of a more tortuous way to be rendered deaf. By laughter. It would hurt more than just having my inner ear scooped out by a power drill.
So, I ducked into a dark copse where I knew that there was a loud stream that smashed itself onto rocks and scraped itself against the shore, effectively drowning the sounds of humans in the sun. I moved as close to the silver waters as I could, and I hunkered next to a mossen rock, and I turned an ear to the stream, and I tried to wrap myself in the roiling rushing waters.
But, something occurred to me, and made me clench my teeth. The waters, as they rushed, as they tumbled, as they gurgled, sounded like laughter itself. The laughter of nature. The pristine guffaw of water turned loose and running free.
I could only cover my ears and sob. It sounded like me laughing at myself.
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