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  • Writer's pictureTuananh

Balboa Park, Old Town, Ocean Beach & Hillcrest

Updated: Aug 6, 2018

March 4, 2010

Balboa Park

Guided by an intimate friend whom have held my hand close through the years, showcasing the patterns of shadows that root the sycamore boulders. Crossing the overworks of turnpikes and avenues, lies a secret montage of culture and aromas that are native to the innocent nature of this land. To where are elegant columns play a perfect backdrop to a young goddess in her golden top and blue jeans. The gardens lined by depths of green veins that are lived by striking colors that glow against the afternoon beam. The lilies that roam afloat the small walkway path leaves a line of guests frozen in her wonders and calm. I am filled with color. I am filled with smiles. I am filled with her.

The long lines of the cathedral slopes high into the keen blue sky as the lowering dome that lies adjacent stands humble at his partner's gaze. Shakespeare charms the garden with his poetry of romance and passion, but never too far behind the trivial sense of tragedy and an aching heart.

A sense of history lines the grounds of giants. Although from another time, their power and mystery crowds my senses as I am in shame to be "a"-throwned by his highness. The short framed paintings of the welcoming modern era pays no gain to the glory of the patron'd walls that it hangs upon; however, like all mystery that holds in a person, it is the color not of their sleeve that mocks them rather it is the lining of their soul that tributes their existence. An empty amphitheater that keeps boys at skate accompanied; while the maestro and his apostles lay their strings to a mute. Perhaps it is like many things in this place and in life, there is and was a time for anything and many things, but it is not fate that guides you to a destination, it is a belief and heart that such a place is to exist or do so again.

I welcome the evening chills that guide four friendly sandals down the crafted columns that hover above the triton's home. A golden sunset glows upon usually darkened eyes. I seek her smile, I seek her laugh, I seek all in this place that is her, and so I find myself smiling, laughing, and falling.

As the last call goes for the glasses are empty, it is an intimate moment not shared or written that brightens a yet lonely and darkened road home.

~San Diego, California

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