The lime green grass hit my ankles like needles prickling my skin, it climbed up the old brown wooden bench I was sitting on. The screaming babies seemed to move quickly from the left corner of the eye to the other. The children ran after a black and white square ball like birds flying in a flock. Jerseys in two different shades seemed to dominate the green patch of grass that spread out widely. This was the park located a couple of blocks from my house. There was a middle-aged man standing in the middle of the grass in a black and white striped shirt, he seemed to whistle every time the ball went out of its assigned line. I took a deep breath as I let in the scents of dew, floral mist and barbecue breeze. There were men and women surrounded around a small fire with a couple of sausages and steaks on it. They giggled as they put the food in their mouths. The trees reached up to the downtown skyscraper. The wind blew in my ear and raised his arms to hug me. The memory of my father was fresh, random flashbacks of him and me running, biking, and laughing seemed to dominate my thoughts, which seemed to motivate my outlook on the outdoors. My father often took me to this place when I was a little girl. I remember like it was yesterday, we were laughing and running, our run of the day was often in the afternoon. When the birds seemed to come out and sing as if they knew we were coming, the flowers opened with petals as bright as the highlighter in my backpack and the clouds seemed softer than cotton candy. The sky was clear and creamy and the sun seemed to stand out like an oasis in the middle of winter. No one loved the park like my father. He too had memories hidden in every bush around him. Every where... middle of paper... Even though I now felt tied to the bench, the memory of my father would always be here, where it belongs. I have concluded that I may not physically have him here, but what remains are joyful memories of him in the one place I will always be able to contact, priceless. The birds seemed to disappear as the night grew darker. The trees looked lonely and the grass was cold. Strangely, the bench felt older than usual and rougher than I felt before. The park was saying goodbye to me. The nocturnal creatures seemed to disappear as the wind grew stronger. The wind was blowing in the opposite direction and to my surprise there were only three cars left in the parking lot, one being my car. I took a look at the community garden and the flowers looked lifeless, dark and sinister. I slowly approached the car and started the engine. As I left I let go of my father's ashes in the only place I felt close to him.