Well I was light on inspiration today, and you delivered with a bunch of words in 10 minutes! Now all I have to do is put ’em together. Easy peasy.
Like making a cake.
With words.
I’ll put the list at the end, I think, so it doesn’t distract from the flow. Here we go!
Maybe this is a true story, maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s a little of both.
We’ll probably never know for sure.
Most people think of cities as solid, bustling, blocky things without much mystery or magic. Deep, deep in the heart of one of those cities–or maybe to the north and the east side of of one of those cites, it’s best not to be specific, so as some things can maintain their wonder–stood a tiny park.
That tiny park held four things: a bench; a small pond; an old oak tree; and a somewhat odd sculpture. Art, of course, is subjective. Even so, this sculpture was odd not for its hyper-realistic style, per se, but for its subject matter.
Surreally life-like in color and detail, its creator forged the sculpture from a material no one could quite name, soft-looking fur still cold to the touch; rough leathery skin as hard as concrete. There it stood, between the bench and the pond, the twisting bark of the tree its only backdrop.
No one can truly know the inspiration of an artist, and yet the question had crossed many a mind, at least among those few who found the little park at all. As all art should, it did provoke a reaction, even if it was peals of laughter.
That was for the casual observer.
But for someone who really needed the park, who needed that tiny corner of quiet, that sculpture was not at all what it appeared to be.
It was such a night for Rowan, with the moon hushed by clouds, and their spirit flat, when they caught the hothouse scent of orchids in the frozen air. Down the silent block they trudged, the streetlights punching bubbles in the darkness, the scent growing, when they happened upon the park.
They settled themself on the bench, the orchid scent now strong yet pleasant. The statue was lit from above and below, and in that soft quiet, they registered what they were seeing.
At a scale, there, taking up most of the space in that miniscule part not made of pond or bench or tree, were a bobcat and an alligator, each wearing a small, fancy hat, sitting at a too small table, holding too small cups of tea.
The table itself was filled with sculpted goodies, cookies in full color, petit fours, triangular sandwiches on a tiered tray. The bobcat, its hat at a jaunty angle, had its paw on the teapot, as though ready to top up its unlikely friend.
And in that moment, as they picked out the details, like the alligator’s fingers curled around the handle of the cup but for the pinky very much in the air, saucer firm below; or the bobcat’s fuzzy tail poking through a hole just for it in its gingham dress, Rowan smiled at the sheer absurdity.
Like a shedding, they laughed, alone in the night, and while the night still stood, that heaviness rolled away, bit by bit. A peace they hadn’t felt in days enveloped them, even as they stood to get a closer look.
They paused for a moment, but only a moment, when they saw the tin of teabags next to the teapot.
“Orchid Tea,” it read, clear as anything, in that material no one could name.
Somehow lightened, somehow cleansed, with a hope of a different dawn, Rowan walked on back into the gentle darkness, but never found the park again.
***
Our words were:
Tree, inspiration, peace, scent, wonder, bobcat, cities, hope, laughter, orchid, art, and alligator!
Have a wonderful Friday and a great weekend!
A Bit to Read 
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