Weaving Tapestries, Painting Pictures, Dreaming Dreams

A little known park visited only by locals, in a small town, almost empty as the noonday sun climbs over, only sounds are from some unseen doves cooing. The ducks are my only companions, though reluctant ones as they scurry off as soon as I come near. Soon the hovering clouds cover the sun and the afternoon suddenly grows cooler and pleasant though there is barely a breeze. There is peace here, peace in the trees, the verdure, the cooing doves, the silent pools, the weeping willows, which seem to bow down to the pools to tell their tales of woe. Perhaps the pools are made from their tears. Perhaps I should follow their example, lie down on the cool earth beside the water and let my tears mingle with it. But there is no need as the serenity works its magic over me. I am able to reflect, relax, give in to flights of fancy. I came here carrying my usual burdens of worry and a heavy heart, but this is a time to let go of the pain and worries and to open mind, heart and soul to absorb and soak in this tranquillity. Later the tryst with peace continues as I sit down to lunch on a restaurant once much favoured by me, it has a long wooden balcony overhanging over another garden. Fellow diners talk softly, the music soothes but done not intrude. The trees are all around my right, their canopies close above us, sheltering us from the sun and sky. I could sit here for a long time drinking this in.