February 22, 2009
The tubes were down so I walked back home, cutting across the common. I took a breath and felt good again. Watching the silhouettes of ancient trees tossing leaves across the orange sky I thought of a walk in another park where you were attacked from all sides: by roller-bladers who meant no harm and pigeons who could sense your fear. With a wise old white witch, sat smoking liquorice roll-ups, laughing at your concentrating face. At the other end of the common I see the fair is in town. A mechanical arm of flashing lights dancing in the tree-tops.