A mindful two minutes in Retiro park.
It is 30 Celsius, 2 hours before dusk. The air smells brown and green. The trees break the light of the sun into random patches on the grass. There's a slight breeze. Some leaves are made light green by the sun while others are dark green in the shade. Trees protrude at all angles, cutting up the sky. I am seated, leaning against a fat tree trunk. A fat old man in sneakers circles past me for the third time. A running team stream by, kicking up dust in their wake. A couple in their 80s sit on a wooden bench by the path to my left. Her hair is dyed dark and her arm is resting on the bench back behind her husband's hunched body. She taps her fingers without rhythm. His head is turned away. Various birds sing, mingled with human voices, muffled traffic, and feet walking heavily on the beaten earth. A police patrol car circles behind me. A girl with a thick cotton headband cycles by on a men's bike. A lame-legged man hobbles by holding a cane in one hand and his wife's hand in the other. Leaning up against a tree to my right is a blonde young man in shorts and a black beret, reading a newspaper. A woman in red pants hurries towards her destination as life unfolds moment by moment.