urban jungle

"I am a panther in a jungle of hope," says one of the many quotes painted on the wall above the tennis courts in the park. Child-like drawings illustrate words that sound like variations on a Mother Theresa theme. You've seen the pictures, it's a quiet, sweet little park.

Most days, anyway. Yesterday I smelled smoke, and thought, "I play tennis while neighborhoods burn." I started to feel a bit guilty. Then realized there's not a lot I can do. Then both Danielle (across the court) and I realized that we were smelling weed.

This of course, can overshadow the images of bridges, trees, and friendly butterflies, and instead remind us of the day we found broken glass on one side of the net. The chopper overhead was a bit louder- today it could be headed to fight the fires or provide news coverage. Other days? I think there was a standoff once, another time, traffic accident, or who knows what else. There's usually a helicopter. And the painted-over graffiti under my feet was a little harder to ignore.

Though it's hardly as if we play in downtown L.A. or anything. But it just dampens my little naturistic retreat that i so desperately wanted. And after yet another day of corporate frustration, I needed to take out my aggression with a racquet while surrounded by peaceful leaves, a cool breeze, and the awesome fact that the courts are nestled down into the park, so you can barely even SEE the street above.

Who deserves such luxury while not-so-distant neighborhoods burn? Then again, don't we always live our lives carefree while neighbors distant and nearby suffer? This afternoon is no different.

As I steered my car out of the parking lot, a sign in my rearview mirror reminded me that this is a Drug-Free Zone.