There is nothing like an open gym.
By "open gym," I do not mean a time when individuals come in of their own valition and engage in a pick-up game of b-ball.
I mean the potential, the leftover stank, the dormant, empty, open gym. Waiting. Resting.
Its floor is healing itself from the many sets of feet which pounded it the day before.
Its walls are nursing bruises from wayward dodgeballs and handprints in a hurry to "tag" it.
The echoes have evaporated into the ripe, sweatified mist hanging above you, even in the chillest of winter days.
It is the one room that is full in its emptiness. Needs no decoration nor filler.
Like a blank page of paper it beckons - run inside of me. There are no lines until you make them. I can be whatever you need right now.
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1 comment:
I love how you speak of the empty gym healing, nursing itself from use--abuse?--and settling in in the quiet.
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