Art can come in every shape, size, and variety. That is why art can surprise you with where it pops up. Like a playground, art is alive within the swings, and the slides, and the graffiti, but also in the weeds popping up in between cracks in the pavement. There are many facets of art that we are so ingrained in the landscape of our daily lives, that we never learn to appreciate the beauty, and the refuge, that they hold for us.

The other day some high school friends of mine were in the city on a school trip to the Musuem of Natural History. I promptly kidnapped them from their bus and took them on a stroll through central park. Walks through the Park are always nice but today the sun felt like it was shining just for us. Every lazy turn we made we encountered some new delight to sit back and enjoy. Rowboats flitted between the shores and we passed two interlocking weeping willows that hung low to the surface of the water, which my friend decided was "the perfect place to fall in love". We walked acrosss a bridge and heard the melodies of John Denver floating carelessly over to us from the adjacent lawn, and decided that was our next destination. The musician there must be some kind of a fixture on weekends, because he talked with the great crowd that had gathered before him like they were his family, and even went around passing out food to the kids. I never got his name, but his voice was rich and sweet like James Taylor's and i really dug his whole vibe from his shirt that read "i'm already against the next war" down to his shoeless feet. The coolest thing that happened though was that he started going on this little story about how he loves new york because you never know who's standing next to you on the subway, walking past you on the street, or in the case--sitting next to you on the lawn. In that moment he made it known to us that the same man who brought the Beatles to america was sitting right there, not 10 feet away from me.

We stayed and listened for quite some time, joined in on many occassions, and just enjoyed the atmosphere of contentment that his chords provided. We then moved on and found ourselves in the midst of breakdancers, horses who we fed apples to, kids triumphantly standing atop the rocks, benches older than the three of us combined, carved with names of lovers past and present, an indian restaurant which was a favorite of my parents when they were courting each other, and a thousand and one other works of art which Central Park holds deep in its womb that can only be found by getting a little lost.