My dear Oscar,

I took a trip to the park.

These were my impressions:

She knew, as soon as she walked into the cafe-cum-shop that was located in the middle of the park, that she was destined to buy much more than she actually wanted or needed.

“Oh – and an ice cream – yes, just vanilla – and one of those tray bakes – the flapjack – yes, with the chocolate chips.  Frothy coffee – large – and I’ll take a packet of those shortbread biscuits too, for later.”

She knew that she was lying, and slowly rubbing her pregnant belly she paid for all of her items, and imagined herself on a bench, sitting alone, devouring the whole lot.  It happened …

… and the breeze blew through the leaves.

His dog, old, but pert, grey haired like his master, could smell something that he found extremely attractive on the ground, and could not help himself but to roll onto his back, with his legs up in the air, and squirm and soak up the scent.

His master stood at a distance, watching, allowing this indulgence.  He was unconcerned and turned on his heel and started to saunter further away.  The little dog flipped into upright, stared through bleary eyes into the distance, was immobile apart from the quivering wetness of his black padded nose, picking out the odours prevalent, the smells that engulfed his very being.  He idly sought the shape of his master, just noticing the ambling outline in the distance, trotted towards him, was waylaid by some hot meaty and fatty sauce emanating from a child eating a burger at some considerable distance, saw his master again, trotted on, light on his feet, nimble.  His master barely waited for him, their companionship so close and so reliable that even at a distance they were always together, having learned to be tolerant, to put up with the peccadilloes.

Dinner time soon, he thought, with the burger smell still hanging slick in the atmosphere; I shall fry a fillet steak and I shall open that bag of oven chips ….

… leaves, green, twinkling in the sunlight.

… the bough of the great oak tree was a miracle, growing at a horizontal angle from the side of the trunk.  It wended a spidery web into the atmosphere, and just, … how powerful must that age old tree be to bear the weight of that horizontal bough, to keep it in place, to stop its great, great weight from crashing and falling.

Stately, and gargantuan, and forever.

“It’s nice, isn’t it, that they stayed friends”.

“Hm”, he said.

His hairy legs were out in the sunlight, manly strides as she bounced at his side, holding his hand as if she had to.  Really they looked like children, too young to be so committed, building a life together, planning a whole existence.  And it was clear that she got on his nerves something dreadful, but there was nothing to be done, they had decided, they had been kicking around together for a few years now, since university, and so their future was unfolding on a set path to which they gave very little thought.

She grated on him, with her plaintive whining, her neediness, her clinging stickiness, her ‘reward you with sexual activity’ attitude, minor sexual activity, predictable, just enough.  He knew already that the years would slip by, with a baby or two, and his hard work, his never ending work, and the mortgage, parents, get togethers, Christmases, Easters, New Years, just years and years, and already he just wanted to scream.

… a squirrel, like an undulating wave, hopped across the expanse of lawn as if nobody was there, and then scurried straight up one of the biggest trees, with a vertical climb that rattled audibly, just pin-pricked its way up tha bark, and was gone into the foliage.

He walked to the park.

His baby was dead.

His wife was alive.

He walked to the park.

They were jogging.

They were cycling.

They were out in their cars.

Everything that they were doing went no higher than two metres, just a seam of activity, babble, interaction, caution, wide eyed wariness.  Dogs and children and adults and the aged doddering along.

Just above them all, just a few centimetres above them all – the earth soared.

My best wishes to you, as always,

Your friend,

Algernon B. Duffoure.