Did I ever tell you about that day in the park? I guess I
didn't. I don't think I ever told anyone.  Not because it
was such a unique experience, not because anything really
SPECIAL happened- it was just a day out in the park. That's
what I tell myself. But I find I could never bring it up,
even when I was engulfed by that experience, remembering it,
reliving it, feeling it again- I do that, it comes back
every once in awhile, and I embrace it.
 To be honest, it really IS nothing. I mean, I don't know
where to start- because there is no peak and I can't
identity the middle.
 I guess, since I already identified this story as the
story about ''that day in the park'' I should start by how
that day started, and what made it a day ''at the park''.
 I was awake and the sky had a pink tint to it. Early
summer in England, at about six in the morning; I am not an
early riser (though if occasions justified it I will be up
with no problem).
This morning there was no justification to waking up early,
in fact, I didn't just wake up- I've only just finished
work.
 Sometimes I work better at night.
Be it actual work, be it study, or simply writing my latest
story. Sometimes I believe I am a nocturnal being caught in
a day-living society. But that is a discussion left for
another time.
 I was awake and saw the sky, and it was as glorious as
glory can be, sitting in my little apartment, staring out
through dirty windows.
 The flare of the sun painted the clouds and made beams of
light explode in all directions. The rays filtered through
the branches of the little tree in front of the window, and
met my skin, gently warming it.
 I left my station by the computer and yanked the window
open- a rush of air came in, and I wished with all my heart
there was a way to capture that scent- it was not just fresh
air- and it was not just the scent of sunrise- it was the
scent of the rise of a new summer, sunshine in the land
of-no-summer.
 I quickly raised my leg and pulled myself up to the window
seal, window open, air in my hair- sunrise in my chest; and
stared at the sun as it rose.
 It started pink, just above the roof across the road- and
was now higher, more to the right (the world turned east,
giving the distinct impression the sun in now further to the
west) and the sky has already finished its purple-orange
transformation and was becoming light blue.
 A little bird flew in to the tree by my window, and I
smiled. I tend to do that. I sit in some situation, and find
myself smiling to myself, or to this setting around me. Then
I often tend to think this means I am strange- but I have
abandoned that belief. It is not only okay to smile in cases
like these- it's perfectly healthy.

 It was promising to be a nice day. I wouldn't have gone
far enough to venture it would be a WARM day- but nice? Yes,
it was going to be a nice day.
 I was awake, it was early, and everyone else was asleep. I
love and cherish these moments. What more- I actually FELT
awake; this had to be taken advantage of. I felt refreshed
and alert.
 So I quietly brushed my teeth, put my jogging shoes on,
closed the door quietly behind me. And ran.
 I didn't plan where I was going to run, but habit meant I
turned right when I ran away from the house- and when I
reached the end of the road I decided to run towards the
sun- I turned right again, and again- and ran, and ran.
 I haven't run so steadily for a while, and though I was
only running for ten minutes straight at this point, it was
quite an achievement for me. The park was right ahead of me,
and while still running I made the decision to go sit near
the water there and look at the ducks.
 Three minutes later I was on this little platform over a
North London Pond looking for ducks through a veil of
branches from a near-by tree.
 I was short of breath, trying to relax, feeling my muscles
twitching. The strain was not something my muscles are
accustomed to, and the run had stopped as abruptly as it
began.
 The water was motion less. Little crescents appeared here
and there where the wind had gently touched the surface. The
water was
pond-green, reflecting the sky and sun. I had to squint my
eyes when I looked further, looking for the ducks, because
of the reflection of the light.
 The ducks were all hiding. The dawn of the summer has not
pulled them out from their hiding place as easily as it has
called me out.
 I climbed to sit on the rails of the platform, sticking
the back of my feet behind the middle bar of the rails, for
a feeling of balance, and just sat there.
 The sun warmed my skin, and I noticed that the day is
brighter. The sun seems to me moving very fast, though time
seemed not to move at all. The only motion resembling life
around me was the slow swing of the reeds on the water. And
I stared at them.

 A cold wind suddenly blew around me; I could feel it on my
neck, and I can still swear it whispered something as it
passed by my ear. Some sort of message, but I was never sure
what the message was.
 I decided to lie down, climbed down from the rail and lay
flat on my back. Looking up made me dizzy after awhile- just
plane blue- no shades, no clouds, no trees or sun- above me
only sky.
 I closed my eyes and listened to nature, to her song. Yes,
she was whispering, a message I could not interpret- but I
enjoyed its melody.
 It was a song I don't think I will ever be able to forget,
the reeds, the water, somewhere a bird flew out from between
the branches of a bush, unseen ducks could be heard- and the
wind.
 The wind sang quietly, shyly, adding so much to this
beautifully composed peace.
 
 That's when I heard the drums.
No, that's not correct- I heard the drums earlier, joining
in slowly, but suddenly I REALISED my heart was beating to
the song; and suddenly I noticed all other sounds were
gone.
 I sat up slowly, stunned by silence, scared to open my
eyes. It seemed like everything has died.
A cold finger moved across my arm, comforting me that though
the wind stopped singing, it is still beside me.
 I opened my eyes to gaze at that magnificent creature. I
never before understood why beauty was attributed to this
bird- but then, at that moment- beauty was redefined.
 White, it reflected the light like the full moon does,
with dark eyes. Wings spread, it was majestic.
Slowly this bird landed almost divinely in the water, and
just stared at me.
 And I just looked back.

 The tune began again, but louder, it had reached new
notes, notes that play like a violin- on the strings of your
soul. My heart kept beating, in rhythm with all that was
around me, and I heard nothing but her song. Nature's song.

 I can't tell you how long I sat there; or for how long the
swan sang; but I know it was precious time.
When that swan arrived it had turned that lake into
something more magical then I could have ever envisioned.
 And when it left, its wings played the final notes which
echoed and played like ripples on the water. Slowly nature
has subsided her song, the voices of people started mixing
with the sounds of ducks and drowning the voices of the
pond, and everything else.

 I was sitting on this platform above some North London
pond. I am still not sure what happened there, but at some
point I realised that I was not alone, that the ducks have
come out, tempted by the bread of kids in the park, and that
perhaps it was time for me to go home.


 So I went home. Everyone was awake, I opened my mouth to
say ''you wouldn't believe what I've seen'' but I closed it
without saying a word, made myself tea; and served
breakfast.

5th April 2007