What a day! I needed a stroll by the river.
The raft of ducks didn’t know the tossing of small dried bread was free therapy.
As the sun lowered, shadows caused by the bowing silver birches made the bread bits look like stones.
The mallards oblivious towards my mood focused on claiming superiority, always first to the bait as it hit the water. Catching bread bombs mid-air equalled life threatening. The bread, so dry, may lodge in its neck and turn his plumage from green to blue.
The hens looked for equality. Each time a mallard ate first, the hens would pull at the preen feathers of the male as if to quack “Oi! You greedy so and so!” Continue reading
What had changed? Was it him, was it the street?
Those questions rested in the back of his consciousness. He was neither disturbed or perplexed by the questions. They were more part of a scientific experiment. He didn’t care much for cats, so curiosity was welcomed. He turned the corner at the top of the road, and he thought about the last time he had walked this street.
He hadn’t actually been walking, rather being driven down it as he left this area for good, or so he thought. He had never planned on returning. He had returned on a couple of occasions over the years, but that was for a holiday. This felt different. He remembered the pain in his chest that day that came from the sobbing as he was driven away. Minutes earlier he’d had to pries himself away from the bear hug of his disabled father and loving mother. He was leaving on an adventure that had been in the planning stages for nearly ten years. His whole life, being, existence had been aimed fairly and squarely on that day. It was an emotional departure.
Here he was again. What had changed? Had he? Was it the area?
The concerned, caring husband stretched his arm out to protect the dignity and respect of his wife.
“Step back please,” the husband orders whilst his hand is still raised, palm facing the overly curious tourist.
“Give the lady some room” A family member uses both arms to wave the small but intrusive group back a little, who are stopping nearby. “There’s nothing to see, and there’s no need for photos.”
Sat on the bench, a stone’s throw away is Mario, he’s on holiday from the Philippines. His hand had instinctively gone towards his backpack as he saw the lady go down, but the concerned urges of the family had stopped him whilst unzipping the side pocket.
Mario himself was a family man, two lovely teenagers that had grown up to be good responsible adults. It hadn’t been plain sailing, particularly since their mother had died. He’d had to take on an extra part time job, taxi driving. That was in the evenings after he’d finished at the restaurant waiting tables.
Mario took a small water bottle out of his backpack, unscrewed the top and took a large mouthful of water. It was a hot one today.