Meredith Sproul


A park is a cultivation, a fabrication, a man-made replica of land imitating nature from outside an urban space. Bound by city streets, we have a place where we feel free, but only within a limit. The park I return to again and again has become the place where I have imprisoned my trauma. Like the imaginary walls of my mind, I hold my trauma in a park bound by urban sprawl. I go to this park to process the feelings that connect my father’s death, my mother’s cancer, and my impeding heartbreak. This park becomes a simulation, a selected space where I have chosen to let these thoughts live; I go there to wake them. Am I enclosed by this park, its physical limit? Am I stuck in a frame of my own mind? How can I feel stuck and free here at the same time?