Part of a series of walks conducted during the COVID-19
pandemic, India Point Park, contributes to a growing
introspective process observing the relationship between
the body and nature. When suddenly our world is quiet,
Mother Earth persists. Translocated to a new place and
time, I search for understanding and mindfulness as a tool
to find a place where my body feels at home.
5.3.19.22
Another sleepless night. My head aches. From the tiny window in my basement apartment, the early morning fog spills in, filters through the holes. It beckons me. I take a walk.
6.3.19.22
They told me stories of constructed land, the trash barges tucked between that place where Gano and Taber meet, reaching out into the bay like fingers. Waterscapes now landscapes, I’m suspended in the water, imagine the era before I-195.
8.3.19.22
When I first moved to Providence, the prospect of unswimmable water confused me. Something I knew to be so pure and free now milled by toxic runoff. Still, a dolphin swims through. Makes a home where we said it couldn’t.
12.3.19.22
Ghosts. For only a moment they surround me, whisper the words of forgotten histories. Traces of Rhode Island Hospital and Manchester Street Generating Station erase. Instead, an endless space, a timeless space. Just me and the bay.
13.3.19.22
When all the sounds come flooding back, rush hour traffic and distant sirens, I am reminded that all things are fleeting. The steady thrum of rain, patterns form across the water, the walls of my illusion dissipate. I’m left with a quiet memory.