7 am: A
walk through Flushing Meadows Park. All that can be heard in the distant is the
cars making their way down the Grand Central Parkway. The light traffic
produces honking cars every so often. The park is rich in sounds. The rustling
of the trees as the wind picks up then dies down. There is a sound of feet
running down the paths and heavy panting. I can hear the calm water of the pond
moving in unison with the wind pushing through the park. The birds are alive
with chirping noises and the flapping of their wings is too loud to ignore. As
I speed up my walk I can hear my own heart pounding within my chest and my
breath start to quicken. To my surprise I heard a lot of chatter, even this
early in the morning. Conversations between runners, between people holding
hands taking early morning walks, and even the sound of children shouting. Taking
a seat on a bench facing the water, I can hear the sound of the wind more
clearly. It has grown louder as it washes through the trees. I can hear the
loud crunching of fallen leaves as the runners pass me by. As the wind picks up
I hear the dragging of the crisp leaves being dragged along the concrete
pathway. The water bangs against the wooden pegs planted into the ground and
the plastic boats bump up against one another loudly.
