Jamacia. Queens. Suburia in the city.
Semi-legal two dollar vans.
Jamacian accents yell "Rosedale" in the midnight sky.
Wooden fences, zig-zag pathways.
The baseball field, the basketball court, tennis balls flying high.
Hip-hop playing from the terrace floors.
The swing and sprinkler sets bring back childhood memories.
Walk a little further past the community garden and a silihuette catches your eye.
The gazebo: massive, brown, beautiful like a person of its own
Its own stories to tell, its own soul, its own memories.
Beyond the flowers, yeah you know the ones, the ones you blow on to make a wish.
Beyond the sunflowers, beyond the edge of the world almost you can see it.
The green benches underneath where you sit and think: sometimes a little too much about the world.
My world, THE world, your world, our world.
That big brown gazebo has seen it all.
The annual festival: the gospel chior, the dance troupe, the african jewelry
The fried fish patties, the baked goods, the passing people.
ALL....NEAR...THE BIG BROWN GAZEBO
I love the detail.. and how I could envision everything you saw during your adventure! This is great!
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