Observations on a Warm Day

As I lie among the overlong grass, I stare up into a vast expanse of open blue sky, pierced only by the fierce heat and light of the giant supernova, and a few listless streaks of cirrus.

Spring has sprung, and the leaves are regaining their colour and vigour. Winter's bare branches give way to quasi-autumnal hues of brown, red and green, punctuated by stark contrast to the rich azure above.

The park is busy with the whoops and cheers and hollas of children at play. The distant sound of a practicing steel band drifts across the plain. Bicycle bells ping and toll as men play with balls and women prepare picnics.

A married couple stroll by, as so many before, proudly pushing a pram before them.

Dogs of all breeds, shapes and sizes freely frollick to and fro, frantically chasing sticks, balls, birds, and any other object charged with the audacity of motion.

Bees float around, the zip of their flight providing an occasional burst of terror for those who hear it.

Boys and girls in fluorescent bibs show off their silky skills as the wind's gentle but relentless breeze adds a welcome coolness. Kites and planes soar overhead, speeding toward their unknown fates.

The red buses unload a steady stream of revelers, each looking to make the most of their days of rest. Hangovers are cured by illicit barbecues, and a few solitary individuals bury their heads in books, oblivious to the beauty of the world around them, or perhaps all too aware of it.

The bootcamp fitness session helps a middle-aged man's rehabilitation, while a young child takes its first tentative steps between the open arms of overjoyed parents, and another learns to ride her first bike.

Ducks flap their wings as their feet skim and paddle across the flat and filthy pond, watched by onlookers sat at benches commemorating so many of their bench-sitting forebears, now deceased. A rare spindly tree hangs yellow flowers in a conspiratorial contrast to the dull lifelessness of the water's surface.

The park, on this sunny afternoon, is at once alive with the vibrant urgency and motionless peace of the season, and each fragile moment holds a special significance for those involved.

She

She's the one who sits there, watching the world go by
She's the one who sits there, morosely asking why
She's the one who feels this way, stifled and striving for something to say.

He's a man who wanders, wilfully whispering words
He's a man who wonders what it is with the bees and the birds.
He's a man that spots her, soaring high above
He's a man that sees her, swooping like a dove

He's the one to notice that she's the one for him
She's the one who knows he'll be there through thick and thin.

He's a man emboldened, who tries to approach his dove
He's a man impassioned, who thanks the stars above,
Because when she smiles her wonderful smile

He's the one to know
That she's the one he loves.