Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words | Page 77

It was too early for the dogs and their walkers, too early for prams
and mothers who met. Far too early for children (besides herself) to
come running and playing and fishing. This morning there was just
herself, and the natural clock of the park.
And now this thread of shiny red.
Setting off under the shades of the monkey-puzzles, she felt like a
mobile sundial- checking to see if her shadow defied the time here.
Or there. Behind or forward. Although it shouldn't be forward. It
would be now. Not past. An hour leapt over. An immediacy. Like the
thread she now followed.
New mushrooms had sidled up quickly during the shortened
time/night and she crossed fingers and hoped for a circle. Sadly they
had merely popped up with no regard for symmetry or
fairychangelings. Just an autumnal freckling within the grass.
Some were leggy and some squat. Floppy grey heads staring down
at the ground. Mummy said she had reached that leggy stage. She
wasn’t sure what that mean exactly All she knew was that her
trousers now circled her ankles and that was a bit annoying.
***
Despite being in a big city, it was very quiet in the morning park.
Like a Sunday but without the bells of St Helens. You learnt about
other bells in another city in a nursery rhyme, but as she had no
interest in London she had chosen to forget the names.
A slight breeze touched her face and the mushrooms wriggled a
bit. If it picked up speed and became a wind then the pond eddies
would whip up waves and drown the ducklings.
Hurrying towards the waters edge she searched frantically for the
wakes telltale signs of the family on an early morning outing. All was
still. No wicked wave wind. Reeds upright and furry. Pads absent of