I have a tendency to get a little fixated on something for a short while, and then kind of burn out on it, and then leave it alone for a loooooong while.
I ate taco salads almost everyday for two months in high school. Then I stopped, and can count on two hands the number of taco salads I've eaten since. Same with nail polish (also high school), House, my almond butter phase (ugh), and then there was the bean and cheese burrito period of fall/winter 2009.
Then there are things that present as these passing obsessions, but instead, set up shop and stick around for a long, long time.
James is one of them. Running. Harry Potter. Serving dishes (I've reached apartment capacity), peanut butter, Brooklyn in general, and Prospect Park in particular.
I realized the other day that half the entries in my journal are odes to Prospect Park. I rhapsodize about the leaves in the fall, the snow in the winter (though, not often), the knock-you-down-amazingness of the spring, and the long-twilights-with-fireflies of the summer.
I run in it almost every day, I ramble in it about once a week, I picnic in it every summer--the park and I have a storied history--and I love it.
I'm in love with it. With a park.
If you're dubious, come for a visit, and I'll show you why.
**I took these photos on Saturday, on a perfect spring morning.