autumn

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The red-faced toddler is screaming. Loudly. Her mother curses under her breath, frustratedly flicking her hair back from her own heavily made-up face. I smile sympathetically and then turn the volume up on my iPod and try to drown out both the physical noise and the screeching of my own thoughts which threaten to consume me. The torrential rain causes rivulets of water to stream down the window; I watch a single drop as it falls, following its haphazardly jiggly descent down the glass. It pools at the bottom and I lose it amongst all the other drops. I sigh, and press the bell. Time to get off. My walk from Bus Stop to Park is wet, yet uneventful. The torrential rain has eased off to a fine drizzle, which shatters the reflections of shop fronts and homes in the many puddles littering the streets. I long to jump in the larger puddles like an adventurous child, without a care in the world. Splash my jeans with water, laugh with the excitement of water going everywhere and scream with delight at the sensation of cold, wet feet. The ornate green gates stand open at the entrance to Park. As I pass through and run my fingers over them, damp and rusty, the peace of the inner sanctum hits me immediately. Gone is the roar of too much traffic on ill-equipped roads, the chatter of schoolchildren eating chips from Jimmy's at lunchtime, the gentle beat of raindrops on metal. Instead I am greeted by nothing but nature. The trees bow down to me with the help of occasional gusts of wind, their orange leaves falling to the soggy ground, not making a sound. Birds sing beautiful songs to each other, in a language I will never understand. A squirrel shivers under a bench, cradling an acorn to his chest. He watches me nervously as I walk by. Over there, where the dilapidated bandstand idly sits, a murder of crows group together. They squawk in unison. I shudder. "Smile, it might never happen!" calls a passerby as he speeds by in the opposite direction. I jump a little; I hadn't even noticed him coming. By the time I've thought of a witty comeback he is far, far away. One crow glares at me, his {her?} eyes glittering dangerously. He squawks. I shudder again as all the other crows look in my direction. I hurry on. Along the gravel path, past the bandstand, skirting round the swings - empty of gleeful children, but swinging lazily with the ghosts of past playground users - dodging the doggie poo and through the gap in the trees. It isn't a secret entrance to Pond, but if you're not a local you can be forgiven for not realising it's there. As I walk through, my Doc Martens kicking up squelchy leaves, I spy a duck. It quacks at me. I quack back. Its mate comes along and quacks at me too. I quack back. They look at me, heads to one side. "Where's our bread?" they seem to be asking. I simply laugh at them, then laugh at myself for being such a daft mare. As I stand by the water, reflecting on my squiggly reflection, the sun peeks out from behind a cloud and I raise my face towards it to catch the gentle rays of the autumnal warmth on my skin. The grey skies are brightened by the beauty of a vivid rainbow and tiny, icy raindrops prick my cheeks, as though teeny-tiny men, with teeny-tiny ice picks, try to excavate my face. Poking my tongue out I spread my arms wide and close my eyes, relishing the sensation of my favourite season, forgetting all those annoyingly frustrating niggles that exist in the world away from Pond, and outside Park. I spin round and round, faster and faster. I am Wonder Woman. The sun disappears. I open my eyes; the rainbow has gone, taking its elusive treasure with it. It is suddenly bitter, the cold enveloping me completely, making my nose run. I shiver, wrap my arms around me. Winter is coming, and I must go home. {this isn't true, it's purely a work of fiction}