This is an exercise I did in one of my classes; we were instructed to go to Millennium Park and write about it—anything at all.  I have to say, Millennium Park is not my park of choice in Chicago.  It seems so touristy.  But, I have to admit, this trip softened me a bit.  It’s a great place to go and observe people.  Some of these gestures may find their ways into my stories…

Early September, Millennium Park

I enter at the northwest corner, beginning my journey in Wrigley Square.  Three pigeons are huddled in the grass not far from Michigan Avenue, undisturbed by the throng of pedestrians marching by. 

A group of teenage girls pose for a picture next to a fountain.  Mashing their faces together so they can all fit into the frame, they flash huge white smiles that only recently were fenced by braces.  A man in a full tuxedo sits off to the side on a park bench.  He absent-mindedly lifts the leg of his tuxedo pants to scratch his ankle, revealing a skinny shin mottled by black hair. 

I keep walking south, passed a planter overflowing with wildflowers.  I stop to listen to the hum of crickets melding with the swoosh of traffic on Michigan Avenue.  A 20-something man stops to take a picture, zooming in his lens to capture the smooth texture of the flower petals.  Past him walks an older woman with snow-white hair.  Not gray, not graying, but totally white – wispy like cirrus clouds overhead. 

Chase Promenade is busy.  A couple tries to manage their double stroller, sending sippie cups and goldfish crackers slamming to the sidewalk.  Their two children nag for ice cream from a vendor nearby.  At a table, two girls toss popcorn kernels to a hoard of pigeons and sparrows at their feet. 

Reflected in the mercury surface of Cloud Gate, the buildings along Michigan Avenue look boneless, as if Salvador Dali had painted them.  A teenage girl and her mother lay beneath the sculpture, laughing at their mutated reflections and not caring how dirty the pavement may be: this is their moment, together. 

Children play at Crown Fountain, savoring one of the last weekends of summer.  Laughter, shrieks, a baby in a diaper splashing her older brothers and sisters. 
The rush of the water drowns out the noise of the city, the winds picks up off the lake.  I’m hit with a sprinkling spray, cool like kisses on a breeze.