Ducks, Geese, And A Big Black Crow

For a country girl like me, who grew up playing in the wild and untamed woods, city parks are kind of confusing.

I mean, how can real nature exist in the middle of the city, roped in on all sides by an enormous steel-and-concrete grid of streets and buildings? How can the animals or even the plants who live there be considered wild? Aren't they tamed and fettered, ripped away from a truly natural environment, just like the animals in a zoo?

I know. I get a little dramatic when I talk about the woods. But my point remains that 'urban nature' is an oxymoron, and even the most grand and glorious city parks weird me out.

So it would stand to reason that today, when I stopped by a tiny little Seattle spot called the West Ewing Mini Park, I would have been aghast that a minute strip of grass alongside an industrial canal could be so pretentious as to call itself a park.

Instead, I was charmed.

As I looked up at these trees, walked along the water, and watched the geese swim by, it occurred to me that maybe a city park is not meant to replace or even compete with the untouched expanses of forest and field that exist in truly wild places.

Maybe the real purpose of a city park is to feed us just a taste of wilderness, to keep our souls alive until we can properly experience nature in its untamed state.

For a country girl like me, that is something I can truly understand.