Summer evenings are back. I'm in the park for another sunset.
The birds are loving it. I can hear sparrows and starlings and the call of a wood-pigeon.
The sky is hazy with the last wisps of cloud and there's a band of gold painted just above the darkening trees. I like that moment when the sun has sunk below the horizon and the church spires and tall poplars and the distant horizon, are all just black silhouettes against the sky.
I'm out here tonight because it's too nice not to be. I haven't eaten, I've got loads to do, I have to get up early and I'm already tired, but I'm in the park, drawn by beauty like a moth to a flickering flame.
I wonder whether it's okay to let that creative attraction overwhelm your common sense? It would have seemed very grown-up, very responsible to tell myself I ought to stay in and wash up. The child in me pleads for fresh air and starlight, somehow knowing the brevity of those moments. I sit out here, irresponsibly defying the adult me who knows how exhausted I'll be, struggling through tomorrow. Which of us is right?
On the flip side I also paid my gas bill today, so, you know, swings and roundabouts.
Ooh swings and roundabouts! I'm in a park... surely there are...
Well, irresponsibility is one thing I guess. I'm also conscious that there are some things I just can't do.
Anyway, it's pleasant enough out here under the steadily fading light and the chilled wind. A dog barks in the stillness, the gold turns to purple and pink, and the wood-pigeon finds a mate who echoes his call from a different tree.
I go home feeling content.
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