I went to Balboa Park with little research and limited time. Innumerable folks spoke of this park with reverence and advised me to visit, so I hastily pulled myself out of a nap and drove over. As expected, I couldn’t see it all. I hurried my steps between strollers and flocks of teenagers to as many different landmarks as possible. Around every corner, I found more museums and buskers and stunning architecture and colorful gardens. I merely scratched the surface of this endless destination of destinations, but I’m glad I still went, even if only for a little while.
I waltzed through the park with frenetic enthusiasm, stepping to the tempo of that contagious Californian sunshine. What could I do, but smile at my fellow dancers who were choreographing this marvelously golden afternoon? I felt aglow as I rounded the fountains and promenaded down the porticos. Alas, it was time to leave, and I made my way past the chapel and toward my exit across the bridge. Hurrying on the sidewalk, I beheld the dreamy light around me cast by the descending sun, then paused. Deep breath in, I leaned against the railing and looked down the valley and out to the city skyline. I was pressed for time, but in this brief moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be here.
