The Park

But this morning was so different. The branches seemed to beckon us to the peaceful pond ahead.

The Park

Early morning, walking with my dog in Husseywell Park. Misty autumn air, trees beckoning, usually beckoning to my dog to hide behind a solid oak, only to be found by me as his tail wagged happily from the trunk. If I hid, he worried until I showed myself and laughed.

But this morning was so different. The branches seemed to beckon us towards the peaceful pond ahead. The pond has a tiny island in the centre. –– Wait! A sculpture has appeared at the pond's edge – a heron blending grey in the mist, one leg folded –– a sculpture? No! It moved! It is a heron. Stop! It knows no fear and seems to welcome us within the hazy scene.

Paddy the dog and I gaze silently. The autumn aura enfolds us, but rogue time is hovering. Mindful words kaleidoscope into emotion and sight.

Heron instantly spreads its ghostly wings, propelling its stick-like legs into the sky and where?

A  motor-bike chugged along the adjoining road, pushing us noisily back into the restless world, leaving a miracle memory in the album of my brain.