"There's a meadow I can't stop coming back to" - Carl Phillips

There's a place I can't stop coming back to. A short walk from my house there's an opening in a fence just off the street. I've walked down these broken stairs, this wooded path to the river more times than I can remember. I call this place White Sand Beach, but it's more than that. It's solace, it's my city, it's part of home.
Despite the beauty, both physical and emotional, of this place, there's brokenness here, too. In high school we had parties here, a place away from parents and roofs and police. I remember watching boys paint graffiti on the cement wall in the sand and being angry at them for ruining a part of this place I held sacred. Now, I see things differently. The graffiti, the remnants of bonfires and fireworks, this is part of our connection to this place. Maybe it's an immature expression, a childish way of loving this land, but there's always room to grow.

Now when I visit the beach, things are different. I'm no longer a part of the parties, but instead visit the beach during the day with friends to picnic and play cards, or alone to write and reflect. The river has always informed and bordered my life. It's broken, but it's beautiful. I've seen this beach in every season. Visiting it now in winter, snow covers the sand and the graffiti-covered cement. Seeing a scrap of paper sticking out of the snow or a cigarette butt I no longer feel as much loss but I feel a little bit more connected to people who love this place like I do.