Parks

Walking down Strawberry Hill footpath today, signs saying that the street lamps weren't working. I felt tempted to wait until evening and walk down there, savouring the fear of previous adolescent stoned walks back, fearing each next shadow but relishing that fear, allowing it to keep me alive and alert to every subtle flavouring in the cold night air. Normally, this feeling rises and subsides between each lamp-post, or is sometimes prolonged where a bulb has gone, but tonight I could walk the entire distance emboldened by the type of terror that keeps you on the edge of your seat throughout a good film This idea of the tension between fear and excited anticipation, depression and exhileration, made me suddenly aware of the absence of such tensions in my recent life. Although I had felt contented, even happy, this well-being had insulated me not only from feelings of deep depression which made each coming day unbearable, but also from the feeling of rejuvenation which often followed such periods. I had often felt that the park reflected my moods: it formed such an integral part of my life from the ages of about 13 to 18, and every extremity of emotion experienced during that time was experienced also in the park, or more precisely in the woodland gardens. From the earliest times there, when my first girlfriend and I would walk through until we found what we believed to be a well hidden spot, then lie in a meaningless embrace for hours on end. We were so sure that we had found love, but neither of us could even guess at what the word might mean, so perhaps it was not surprising that it lasted only a few months before we despaired of ever finding any new form of excitement together, and so went our own ways. There followed a period which might be defined by its drug taking, but to do so would be to miss the vast proportion of what occured, of what life was about during those mid-teen years. The park was a refuge from over-critical parents, neighbours, police, everyone. It was a place where we knew and had named every hidden glade, every unusual formation whether made of plant, earth or water. Because of this knowledge and familiarity with every aspect of the woods, we were its rulers by default. It was our homeground, and on it we were unchallenged. Although I still attended school and college throughout this period, this served only academic purposes. Everything else was learned in the park. I shall never forget the night when I learned about nature, how truly beautiful it was. I was in the woodland gardens, and looked up through a canopy of bare branches. The weave was more complex than any I had ever seen before, but despite the brittle nature of the threads used, each one had been maneuvered perfectly into position. The resulting display of fractal geometry was astounding, more so than the trees I had seen earlier that same evening, accross the river from Richmond. The way in which their branches warped the green and purple November evening air to read "Frap", in letters which narrowed towards the bottom, was no doubt very clever, but it revealed a human, and therefore mortal, aspect when compared with the timeless trees of the woods. Note: I told you you didn't want to know!