Fountain Park

Article 03 - April 15, 2016

I have sentimental feelings for this place. It’s breathtaking. Beautiful. It’s this oddly perfect marriage between nature itself and artificial structures. Going there at 1645 on the dot everyday is even sweeter.

It takes me around fifteen minutes to disembark from the train, and a further three to walk through two malls to get there. But it’s so worth it.

Even from a distance, when I was on the walkway looking down at it, the park’s uniqueness shines through.

It is an oasis in the middle of the suburbs. And I’m forever grateful for it.

What immediately struck me when I first got there was the arching trees that shaded but not crowded. Tiny concrete squares that paved the floor which is a joy to step on. The small herded bushes that protected the gentle wooden benches and steel beams. The brick steps that leads to a small balcony in which you can see the wonders of the ocean for yourself.

Yet there is one thing missing from the park itself— an actual fountain. This is the name I gave her. 

Fountain Park was never her actual name. 

Still, this is a wonderful place to be in.

The lighting was beautiful, a gentle glow of yellow from the sun. It was a cozy 75 degrees out. If there was a hint of wind it must be coming from the oceans. All around me were the small songs from the birds perched on the branches. The joyous laughing and cheering from the children a few hundred feet away.

With my iPad in hand I begin my trip. I waddle my way through the small monument of rocks that marked the humble entrance to paradise. To my right was a series of small seats that were accessible by elevated slabs that were raised two feet so they could see the sights. 

The tree line to my left soon gave way to an open grassland space where a few sat and played. In front of me was a large circular block marking the boundary to a hedge maze some thirty yards in diameter. Flanking the center circle were roofed benches where I usually sit and type out a few documents. 

But my eyes aren't fixated on that.

I took a small turn left, and walked up the staircase. It was a concrete balcony with flowers growing out of the tiny cracks toward the edges. The wind carried their petals alight. It ran through my hair. The water once again caught my attention. 

The bay. The small recluse. The waves were calm. The mountains complete the picture. I held my iPad up to capture it. Then I unsheathed the Pencil and doodled on the screen. Making arrows. Taking notes. Coming up with something that can fill my later pieces. 

In fact this is quite close to what happens every time I visit. 

For a person that loved to be indoors. This is one place that I adore. It allows my gears to grind and levers to crank. Refreshing. The ideas flow. 

Like a fountain.