Thinking of Mab as I write. She calls this poetry.
I don't believe her, but who cares - it helps.
Sat in Hatters Park by the pond,
I see ...
Weathered, stained boards of the picnic table I'm sat upon.
Waves on the pond caused by the wind.
A swan, head down beneath the water hunting for food.
A mallard keeping his distance from the swan.
A starling in the tree above me.
Tiny island in the pond, wish I could go sit there.
Half-submerged picnic table that's seen better days.
Tidy line of willow trees on the water's edge.
Spring colors on the trees across the pond, pale greens and yellows.
Cavity in the trunk of the tree next to me that looks like a yawn.
Trash floating on the pond, a Dunkin Donuts bag, yuck.
"DAD" carved in the picnic table, and "King".
Pain and Fear, I will leave you behind.
[i wrote them on the table myself, small in pencil, to literally leave
behind]
I hear ...
Cars on the road nearby, always cars.
People walking and talking in the park.
Starling singing & chattering above me.
Willow branches shuffling in the wind.
Robin singing far off.
Dogs barking.
Wind blowing.
Water lapping.
My foot tapping.
Frogs chittering.
I smell ...
Someone smoking.
Damp grass.
Old wood.
Faintly fishy pond smell.
I feel ...
Wind blowing, making me cold.
The paper I am writing on.
The pencil in my fingers.
The bench beneath my butt, hard and flat.
The ground beneath my feet, spongy soft.
My fleece against my neck, warding off the cold.
Time to walk again.
Walked up to the lake, walked along the beach.
Found a piece of pumice, put it in my pocket.
Came across a dead seagull at the water's edge, made me cry.
Wind blew my hat off, had to chase it.
Stood in the shelter of a huge willow to write this.
[and then I walked home]