A Walk in the Park
.
.
.

To one side of the path a thin yellow leaf fallen loose into the field
of soft green grass twitches in respose to the wind. On the other
side, a cement water fountain stands idle. The sun is kind in this August
afternoon, leaving no use for the fountain, yet it still offers its
sand-flavoured refreshment to all who pass.

.
.
.

The soft coo of a distant mourning dove wafts over the breeze, its gentle
call audible in pauses between the sharp chirps of finches flitting from
branch to branch in the trees overhead. The happiness of these finches
is contagious, and one can not help but to smile at watching the small
brown birds hop about and call out to each other, sometimes taking
up and flying en masse to another tree not four yards away for no
apparent reason other than that it is there and they are not.

.
.
.

...This place that is nature shaped by Man's hand for His own pleasure,
a small plot of natural beauty to gaze upon in a world where Nature
has otherwise been stripped away...