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In Charlie's Park

Following my visit to the cemetery where he is interred, I paused at a nearby forest-green bench, in a space that offered a dreamy view of Lac Lemans, the French Alps, and a dozen or so frolicking children in a playground dedicated to Charles Spencer Chaplin.


Seated on the green pine, I watched the Swiss tribe skip, run, waddle, and trip over themselves; indeed, reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin's off-centered antics. Simple yet indistinguishable laughter and hoopla tickled the air and my lonesome ears. Some minutes passed before I consciously invited myself to recall such song and glee from more tender days. However, an ashen sky can quickly snap and squash a meandering mind. The burly brain I built didn't wait to resist such soft reflections and with a snowflake of effort, tossed them aside.


My shallow breath met my chest as my chin dropped. I tumbled toward that place where melancholy shackles miracles. Swiftly, the spirit of 'Sister Glum' took a seat beside me. However, the spry orchestra of jeunesse glorieuse, busy as bees, exploring the frosty turf, monkey bars, see-saws, and swings before me, kept the sister's provocations from prodding and taking hold. I did not fold. The childrens' magnetic presence imbued more than a kindling of assurance. Their gusting magnificence filled the wintry void in my lungs. And so, the force of clarity kept the woeful witch at bay.


Thankfully, with wondrous vigor, my drowning eyes seemed to surface. There were a dozen tots, none older than four. A few parents held their dutiful watch while others participated, proudly; engaging with their infants and plunging into the evolutionary foray, fearlessly. As I sat in audience of the whimsy whim, the hairs in my nostrils detected a growing effervescent quality infused in the oxygen. Suddenly, the hours of unsettling thoughts extinguished and dissolved into the ether. My consciousness was whisked to the highest of balconies, allowing innocence to be seen once more.


The parents and children were gone when my eyes returned, opened. Snow was dusting the dusk sky, the park's monumental *Ginkgo biloba, and the ME I unknowingly came to find. With my legs curled under the bench, hugging it like a long lost brother, I was no longer alone in Charlie’s Park.



*Ginkgo is full of healing energy. These trees are living fossils and have survived for millions of years. They are a symbol of longevity and promote rejuvenation. Wearing Ginkgo reminds us of our own resiliency, vitality, and endurance.







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Merk Showroom
Merk Showroom
Dec 18, 2023

I did not know how beautiful the English language can be before I read this an other meaningful writings of Eric. As a tender and patient observer, he is leading the reader by his descriptions, full of lyrical poetry, into an elevated realm of perception and understanding. His words seem to be drifting the shimmering waters of Lac Leman, which is renewed by the flow of the river Rhône, just as our lives are being constantly refreshed by the flow of the spirit. May the wonderful conclusion of this story, the victory of life, be an encouragement to many people. Thank you, Eric!

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