• J. S. Chlapowski

Every other park

Updated: Nov 20, 2019

It feels nice to be outside. Running gives it purpose.

Frogner's paths are long enough to jog down for a minute and a half straight, the grassy areas numerous enough that you can find yourself reasonably secluded, if it suits. Last week I ran a few intervals, then met Snorre on the grass in an area far from most.

I was happy to take off my shoes and socks because I knew exactly what the blanket and grass would feel like under my feet, and how they both felt softer than they should, and just like that, Frogner became every other park I had ever been to.

The sky was the same as it was everywhere, and expanded just the same when I lay down. Like I did everywhere, I closed my eyes and pretended the sky didn't exist because it scared me, as though a long enough stare would make me float up into it, without any means to come back down.

I'm aware my thoughts are irrational. I haven't asked too many others our skies are the same. Still, I kept my eyes closed. I always do. But then how do I know what the sky really looks like?

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