Wayward Park

It is summer. The weather is warm but has a chill to the breeze, making hairs curl in the air softly, floating up like a feather but not too much, before falling back down. Each wisp of hair gracefully dancing.

Wayward Park is a popular place in the summer, surrounded in leafy trees, fresh and green giving off a lush smell. Flowers sprout in all different colours of reds, blues, yellows, pinks and purples all with sweet scents. The playground, grounded with soft tarmac is placed in the middle of this field, with a road leading up from a small, stone and dirt filled car park that leads to a street of houses, just a few metres away.

This park is like any normal park with swings, a zip-wire, a slide, monkey bars and benches for picnics of all colours, all sprayed with graffiti one way or another but so messily that no one can read anything. No one has to worry about little Tommy spelling out a bad word, as it was probably spelt wrong anyway.

Children play on the playground equipment now, screaming at the top of their lungs as they enjoy the sunshine from a clear, blue sky so deep in colour that it hurts to look at it for too long. That’s why I decide to look down at the contents of my sketchpad, carefully drawing the bunch of flowers that sprout from the ground not that far from my trainer.

Sitting on the swings, you see everything and everyone as these seats are placed at the furthest corner of the playground looking out upon this noisy site. Despite being loud, I come here for peace. My head is always so noisy with rushing and buzzing from my ears that I enjoy to come to this park, sit at my swing and just breathe it all in.

I’m not that sure why. Maybe it’s the way the trees always sway in the wind no matter how much or less wind there is? Maybe it’s of the happy smiles and laughs I see every day, or even none when I walk here in the rain? Or that I always tend to see me when I come here, small and happy as little Kyla runs around the park with a wide grin on her face; that was the time I was young and happy. It’s a reminder I guess, that one day everything was alright and one day I was able to smile and not let it be forced, and someday I think that maybe I’ll find that little girl in her pink dress and boots again.

Maybe.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s