# The Park



## skycloud86 (Jul 15, 2009)

(This was written today in a local park.)

The clouds were like mountains on the horizon from the bench, whilst around me the mild spring breeze filtered through the trees not yet reborn, as lazy blue skies above promised a sunkissed afternoon. Above the trees sat the top of a tower, part of an old cotton mill. I wondered if, a hundred years before today, a worker from that very cotton mill was where I am writing this and looked at a very different scene. Across the wall of trees that decorated the edges of the world that I could see was the spire of a church, its bricks a random mosaic of dark and light brown stones. I knew that below the trees stood the graves of the deceased former inhabitants of the village, young daffodils providing a bright juxtaposition as they grew in the graveyard, cheerful yellow contrasting with mournful grays, blacks and whites.

On the other side of the mill tower, I could see actual hills, not ones of cloud but of soil and rock and grass, daughters of the Pennines, those ancient hills that roll down the middle of England. The mill worker of a hundred years before comes to my mind once more, and I imagine them to be gazing at the same hills, maybe even at the same trees that still grow today, those ancient old gentlemen of the fields, their weary branches creating a web of bark and leaves above.

Although mostly grass, the park I was sat in had a long gravel path which eventually forked and became two gravel paths, one leading to a deep and quiet duck pond, on which there were only a few ducks who quietly went on with their lives, neither knowing or caring about the nearby motorway that provided most of the background noise. The other path led to a bridge of dark and grey wood, which had four light brown planks in the middle, perhaps due to a former hole that needed to be plugged, lest someone fall the short distance down to the stream below, a shallow and meek waterway that as far as I know was nameless. Once the bridge was crossed, the gravel returned, to lead into the woods and to a set of steps made of stone and wood.


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## snail (Oct 13, 2008)

Oh, cool! :happy:


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