A walk in a park
Ahoy mates!
It is the very beginning of spring here in Pakistan and the weather is absolutely perfect. So I was strolling through the park the other day and the atmosphere there was so refreshing that I went again the same night. I am no writer but I tried my hand at archiving the experience of it in my journal. Here is how it goes:
The eerie silence suddenly deepened as I felt my way through the creaking rotating door of the park, the second time that day. The noise startled me, although it had been a welcoming cheer in the afternoon, like an old pal inviting me in to a warm, cozy cottage and some hot cocoa. The sky too, was visibly different. It was no longer an endless canopy of depressed and fluffy, white clouds. Instead, it looked like a child trying his hand at painting, had thrown together inky blotches of midnight blue and charcoal black, creating this starless yet equally mesmerizing summer night. The golden beams of penetrating sunlight, wordlessly peering through the clouds, were no longer part of the landscape that lay before me.
In the sun’s place, the moon now hung low, smoky and secretive as ever. The night was soupy thick with prevailing quiet and a hint of mystery, in tangible contrast with the liveliness of the afternoon, which had been abuzz with activity. It seemed that the laughter of the children in the park had died along with the light of the day. In the darkness the black grass looked like a wall to wall carpet, threatening to suck you in if you looked too closely. It was left, forlorn, to recover from the happy frenetic footfalls, soccer balls and picnics. Leaves, drained of color, continued to scurry along the grey path and the breeze slowly became more keen, raising goose bumps on my arms.
As I shuffled along leisurely, under the blinking, old street lamps, I missed the constant hum of traffic and the chirpy birds, sailing from one branch to another, deep in conversation, drinking the serenity of the monochrome. The nearby benches, which had been exposed to the elements of all seasons, were now a somber brown, but still beautiful. They belonged here so absolutely that it felt like they had grown from rock. A natural formation.
I stopped to inhale the spell-binding fragrance of citrus; the orange trees were giving off. Alongside them, the black-cherry, oak and sugar maple trees that had stood majestic and proud in the afternoon now seemed like they were bending ever so slightly under the weight of the tiny creatures they housed. The late summer roses, blooming in a handkerchief sized garden, too had huddled closer together before going off to sleep.
I stopped by the pond to catch my breath, filling my lungs with the luxurious fresh air of the park. The pond, which looked more like a blanket of snow, due to the swan’s feather, was actually a murky green. I sat on the soft grass to snap a quick picture of the swans. They looked unruffled by my sudden appearance and continued to swim slowly, giving out an air of nonchalance.
As my slow, languorous stroll came to an end, I felt my tensions unwind, as they had in the afternoon. When I paused at the gate, the grey, rain kissed sidewalk, seemed to be melting in the silvery night.
Sending positive vibes your way,
Khadija