Soaking up the mild, warm spring rays, I watch a blue shirted man try to reunite an infant bird with it's mother. It's hard to be sure but I think his attempt at kindness failed. The smell of his manufactured skin on the bird may have rendered it an outcast. Banished from a once loving family. Hell, I can relate to that. I envisage what might become of this tiny miracle. Will it die alone or triumph over the crippling isolation? I watch the different families of duck as they slurp and suck at the invisible treats of mother earth. I shiver despite the gift of sunshine and try to ignore the paranoia that will surely ruin my mood and lead me to be a terrible social companion for the remainder of the day. The bees and wasps stalk fresh summer frocks and unsettle the family time of strangers. This park used to be a mess. A mess I felt safe in. I think back to my adolescent years when we used to come here and would all go to the log (a fallen tree trunk) and sit in a long row of arrogance, drinking and smoking pot, despite not being able to handle the two combined. But we didn't give a shit. We were young and strong and powerful. I never touched the harder stuff though. I didn't have the balls.
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