A million times a year,
the same place is renewed with
a brand new film that chips
away at the nostalgic souvenir it once was.
Growing greener, more ferocious.
The alligators linger along the hiking
trails like the fragrance of a morning
glory during a sunday picnic.
Bull ants decorate the trees
as if December is too far away to wait
for nature to be jeweled.
Sitting at the base of the giant hill,
your purpose diminishes,
and you're humbled beside
the gargantuan size of this green slab.
At the faintest rendering of boredom,
you climb the steps that lead to
the very top of the hill.
Sixty-six steps, and a whirling ramp
that dissolves into the grassy patch
at it's forehead.
You lay down, aligning your body
with the ground, and proceed to roll
down the spine of the hill as you're lathered
in a million suds of momentum.
At the base of this hill, you are but a human.
But at its top, you are a god.
faithful in your need for speed
and the feeling of the grass at your ankles.
Children bask in their youth in the grass
and adults try to regain the left overs of
what once was their youth as they walk
along the paths, tracing old foot prints
with new shoes.
Look to your left,
paddle boats chase after ripples,
ripples of time.