A tourist asked me directions.
He made these assumptions:
A man on park bench writing with a book next to him must be a Native.
Sitting there so at home must indicate that he is home.
I didn’t correct him, didn’t bother, just sent him in the right direction.
I find it odd that I can be so easily contented and comfortable in so many places
thousands of miles away from home.

Bikes pass the green park bench.
Arabs in Armani Express outerwear circle the natural beauty; I watch.
Demur English women plod past in ones, twos, and groups of elegance and young simple folly.
They breathe the freshness in, and again, I watch.
Aged men play with their grandchildren in the field.
I recline.
They see me watching, they all do, even the sun…
English boys with coifed hair cycle by in expensive jeans and extravagantly matched shirts run, bike, walk, stroll, and I watch.
Hyde Park is the richest public good that has become… or maybe always was…
The milieu for different races, ages, and sexes to converge, collapse, and coexist.
And for men to sit on green benches,
watching… and writing.

Aged wooden tentacles stretch towards the sky, gnarled and dignified with age.
They push upward breaking ground
miles high.
Foliage sprouts, blooms, reflects, and falls.
Dead among us… the living,
survived by the lush greenery.
Billions of the green soft razor-edged blades which
help create the scenic setting
pad the tread of man and beast during
Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring,
Rain, Shine, Snow, or Hail.
In the distance colossal concrete monsters rise.
Just another part of the picture,
another piece to the puzzle.
Another evolution of Mother Earth’s tentacles.

My return trip,
feels like a new beginning

New sights and sounds,
to rediscover.

Judaism’s heart and soul
lies within the city.

Winding streets and twisting turns
lead to the Kotel, the Holy of Holies.

A religious center and
my core.

The cultural hub, tossed salad, or melting ***,
of the religious world.

Burqas and Tallit,
Tzitzis and Crosses,
try, oh they try…
to coexist.

The hustle and bustle is nature…
Ants swarming,
Birds soaring with majesty over
Sparkling blue water, over
Blinding reflections.
These birds and these ants
and this hustle and this bustle
revolve around
the Life Source of a nation, of a People…
So breathe deep; you may drink This water.
This is a pure land.