A Walk in the Park

 A Walk in the Park

All winter long I have been looking forward to doing this – taking a walk in the park in the early evening with the sun still illuminating the sky. For me, dark and cold in the evening combine like the two hardened fists of a seasoned boxer.  I need to escape them now. They have punched me too much of late.  Light and warm are so different. They don’t attack me. They seduce me with two soft hands beckoning. I think that I will follow them this evening, go where they direct me.

As the walk in the park this evening is to be a special occasion, I think that I will dress up a bit. What to wear? Emma would know.

There I’ve done it - brand new boots bought specially for this walk a few weeks ago, my best denim shirt all nicely ironed, and my newly washed corduroy pants. I’ll be at my very spiffiest for the creatures of the park.

The Walk

It is the right time now to walk. The sky is still well-lit, and some of the birds are still singing, at least enough for me to hear them now and then. I’ll walk up the old deer trail. I can remember seeing those gentle creatures following that route long ago. In fact I can see one now, walking away slowly but deliberately, not so much afraid, as not wanting to be seen, just in case. It has been a long time between such sightings, for me. I am glad that I did not take the paved path. It is way too civilized and boring for me. Where’s the adventure in that I ask you?

           I’ll go now to where I have seen chickadees before. Ah, there they are. I’m glad that I brought sunflower seeds with me so they can eat out of my hand. I haven’t been able to do this in a long while. You can physically feel their trust. They’re shy at first, like my Emma was when we first danced at what used to be called a ‘sock hop’ at high school. No shoes. 

They’ll soon land on the palm of my hand, like I am in Emma’s. Now is the time. There’s quite a little crowd of them fighting for a place on my hand. I reckon that I should have brought more seeds. Time for me to go, chickadees. Thanks for your company. I hope you appreciated mine.

           Top of the wooded hill, and I’ve not even breathing heavily. I’m fitter than I thought I would be I guess. I know who will be there, more bird friends. There they are, the crows, perched on the top of the trees loudly proclaiming their lordly rights to that position. They own the treetops in March.  I’ll lay a few peanuts here. I know that they like to beat the squirrels for those little treats. It’s only fair, as the squirrels steal from the bird feeders. Turn around is fair play.

           I’ll walk down the hill now. There is the stream. As a lad I used to fish there for those flashy beauties, speckled trout. The water was much cleaner then, than it is now. I doubt that there are any fish there now worth fishing for. But wait! What am I seeing swimming downstream in those waters now.? There’s one, two, three, that’s more speckled trout than I have seen in ages. When Emma and I were first married, I would catch them, and she would fry them up with special spices that would enhance their taste. No fish ever tasted better to me.

           Now, there’s the bench – our bench. For years Emma and I would sit there, hold hands, and say very little, simply enjoying our time together. I can almost see her there now. I have the feeling that if I close my eyes and open them up again I will see her. That would be too much for my heart, physical and emotional. I wish I had thought of having a plaque put up there with her name on it.

           Still, I will sit here for a spell, and think out loud, like Emma can hear me one more time. Strange, I can’t feel the bench as I sit down upon it. It supports me, though, just like Emma always did, no matter how crazy I was. 

           This is getting a little creepy. I think that I should stand up now and walk home before the darkness comes – before the street lights come on, as Emma and I used to say in the summer to our children.

Suddenly

Suddenly the darkness springs upon me like a predator.  The sun didn’t so much set as it crashed into the depths of the sky. And I feel cold, very, very cold. But I am still glad I got to take this walk in the park tonight, even if it might be the very last time. The past lived on, if only for a short and beautiful while.

The Police Report – Constable P. E. McIntyre

“An old man was discovered on the 22^nd of March – dead in the front room of his home. His name was Ian. I didn’t catch the rest. A neighbour came to his place that morning, to see how he was doing. This was a regular, daily visit on her part. Fortunately, the door was not locked. The old man was draped over his walker a few feet from the door – tarnished old black boots on his feet, tattered shirt, and wrinkled pants covered with stains of all sorts, The floor was a bit of a mess as well. His hearing aid and coke-bottle glasses were on the floor, along with some scattered sunflower seeds and peanuts that he must have been carrying with him when he died. According to his neighbour, the old man had been going downhill since his wife Emma died at the beginning of spring the year before, almost to the day. It’s an old, familiar story.”