Sunday in the Park.

<> Ju <> st <> o
<> ut <> si <> de
<> t <> he <> g
<> ates to Cementario Ricoleta there is a park. On
Saturdays and Sundays the sidewalks of the park are lined with vendors,
one after the other after the other. On Sundays, in beautiful weather,
the park is packed with the citizens of BA, some checking out the booths
but most just sitting or even lying on the grass listening to the
numerous musicians or watching jugglers and performers. In BA, as with
all great cities, you see people. You cannot help it. And the people
you see, the people you literally rub shoulders with, are not only your
family or fellow church members or social club members. These are real,
everyday people from all walks of life, various backgrounds and even
nationalities. You do not get to choose who will see when make the next
corner. In big cities, you struggle with anonymity. But even though in
the crowds no one really knows you, you are seen--as one piece in a
mosaic of people, one point in a Serat painting. And it is the whole,
the final work that with prospective takes shape and meaning. I think
in our country, especially in cities where people do not walk and where
there are no large public parks, people do not see each other. It is
easier to care about a people when you've spent a lazy Sunday afternoon
with them in the park. And it's harder to wish them ill once you've
rubbed shoulders with them.

posted by Clint Thomson @ 4/18/2005 08:13:00 AM