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