Mist

A crow spreads its wings and lands on a roof top, The crow shakes its feathers like someone re-arranging a black cloak to neaten their appearance.  A soft grey curtain of cloud and misty rain blocks the view of the city skyscrapers on the horizon. Traffic stands still on the motorway and slip road forming a long line of container lorries, transit vans, buses and cars.  The hooves of the horses grazing on the field by the Ring Road slip into mud. The Stourton Park and Ride construction site is underway, top soil gouged out by monstrous mechanical diggers. The diggers scoop up the earth as easily as a spoon through yoghurt. What was once a pasture for horses to graxe will soon by a car park for over 1,000 cars. My heart sinks when I see what was a field turned to tarmac. Will the park and ride offer long term benefits though, cleaner air, less emissions?

I walk down Windmill Road, a yellow rose bush brightens up the street. A plastic dracula mask and costume are entwined around a conifer, remnants of Halloween festivities. When I reach the wood I make squelching sounds with my boots and splash in puddles. The leaves on the trees all sheen with moisture.  There is a strong smell of damp wood and rotting leaves. Robins sing as leaves fall effortlessly to the ground.

By the children’s playground piles of wood, an unlit bonfire ready to be ignited in a few days. The beech trees, off the beaten track are surrounded by leaves resembling a carpet of two penny copper pieces. I say hello to the park regulars, walking their dogs as I walk to the Rose Garden. I spot a tree creeper climbing up a trunk as a nearby crow makes a strange currrr currr sound rather than the usual caw.