4.00am and the streets are deserted,
nothing but hard frost on the pavement
sparkling in the lamplight.
Somewhere behind me I hear a car,
the petrol engine murmuring and then the sound of
the tyres on the road, disappearing into the distance.
A fox crosses the pavement right in front of me
intent on some purpose that has consumed her fear,
quite unconcerned by my presence.
As I step through the park gates
a passenger jet passes overhead in a self-important
clamour of flashing lights and screaming engines.
I walk past the three plastic ducks set on car springs
in the playground, past the monument to Olaudah Equiano,
across the bridge over the ponds and up the steep path to the exit
past an open suitcase lying empty on the compacted snow.
I start to think about how much longer I will be able to walk
in the mornings like this, my knees aren’t what they used to be
and I’ll miss it when I’m unable to come out anymore,
then I hear beauty’s lovely voice whispering
and I know that all that matters is now.
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