walk

before passing through the wrought iron gate, there is a smell of damp leaves, a harbinger of the quiet peace in the forest park. Immediately after the gate, the light is dim and green, and there is the sound of birds. It is such a pleasant contrast from the early morning glare of the sunlit street.

Climb the path slowly, feel the breath fail, there is no way of knowing why this has been this way, but it is this way, now and for the past few months.

There is a fog in the forest, a low cloud over the hill, the light is very soft.

Half way up the hill a tree has collapsed over the path, blown down by the storm yesterday. The broken stump is still standing, the tree broke at a considerable height above the ground. Climb over the wreckage of the tree and walk an up the path.

The clearing at the top is a bright glare of diffuse light, the cloud of fog diffuses the sunlight, the shadows are light, the contours not as sharp as they might be.

Walk on to look at the birds, They appear to be put off by having a spectator so early, a few ducks waddle over in the hope of there being something edible made available. They waddle on, off on some duck business,

Farther on, on the way back down to the town, there are loud shouts. It is a man calling his dog. The animal should be on it's leash in the park, but it is early and nobody is there to mind. The dog is some kind of retriever, following it's master on his flatfooted jog around the park.

Later, there is indecision, whether to  take the path through the castle, or just to go back down to the small entrance.

Take the path through the castle, and the steep stairway down to the town.

Return home, back to the sleeping family.

It is seven on a sunday.