POLICE IN THE PARK

There were police in the park last night. I was out for my usual night walk when I saw the torches and the squad cars.

I’ve taken to walking at night, especially when it’s cold. I thought it might help with insomnia. Honest, officer, that’s why I’m out so late.

It was so nice. The stars were bright, the air was cold, and the chilly wind rifled through the lamplit leaves. I didn’t go to the woods this time; I stuck to the paths. There was no petrifilaration this time, although arguably, I was potentially in more danger than I was in the woods by the lake.

I don’t know what or who, the police were looking for. I imagined a convict on the run, maybe a treasure-thief holed up in the adventure playground. I realise that my sensibilities may be a little Victorian - it was unlikely that a rogue in a stripy jumper was hauling a swag bag through the park.

When I got home, I could still see the torches flashing out there in the darkness as I pulled the curtains together. This morning, in the bright sunshine, the officers had all been replaced with happy labradors bounding across the green, and dog-walkers in sturdy wellingtons. 

I’m a little tired of not sleeping well. The fresh night air does sometimes work, but my mind still races, even when I get home. It’s like an engine that doesn’t switch off, distracting itself with important questions and maths puzzles. Eventually it blurs into sleep as the gears slow down. The machine is not working too well.

Well, anyway. I’m alive. And it wasn’t me the police were looking for, even though my eventual dreams had me pelting through the moonlit grass with the sound of dogs and whistles in the distance. I don’t know what that says about me, but everything was back to how it should be in the morning.