Once upon a time, this was a huge park. Rock Point Park. It had thousands of vistors and people swam, danced, road a ride that plunged into the water and generally relaxed around 1900. Now, nothing is left. Except for some rocks and a boat dock, not much.

I imagine life is like a videotape. You can only tape over it so many times before things get left behind. Some people might call them ghosts. That's what I felt like here, that so much psychic energy was given and so much happiness in this place, that you can't help but marvel at the wonder and fun of it.

I stared out at the water for a long time. Just the way it flowed, went around and pooled in different sections. I wondered what it would be like to swim in the water. Wondered what it was like for the people who came here and swam and frolicked so many years ago. They're all gone now. So is Rock Point. And the stories are all gone, too.

This weekend, I thought a lot about stories. Telling them, hearing them. Wondering what kind of stories I will have to tell. I know that some people need to hear all their stories now, before they go away, before they whisper into the air and never come back down again. And I think, what kind of stories would you like to write?

So...farewell Rock Point. For 30 some odd years, I've dreamed of finding you. I will always hold what you could be in my heart.

Photo - N
Words - S