My journey to work takes me through two parks. I drive through the first and am treated to beautiful scenes whatever the season. In the spring it is a blaze of yellow daffodils, in the summer families fill its grassy slopes picnicking and enjoying the sun. The autumn brings the stunning yellows, oranges and reds of the changing leaves and the winter, when we are lucky, brings hills of snow with sleighs and snowball fights. The views over London, no matter what time of the year, are stunning and I occasionally take 5 minutes to pull over, get out of the car and spend some time contemplating the views.
I walk through the other park. Well ‘park’ is elevating this small church yard above its station. It is a winding path with lawns on either side and flower beds dotted around. The signs of the season are not so obvious in this park. Obviously the trees change as the leaves change colour and the flowers that bloom change from snowdrops to tulips to heathers. And the short cuts across the grass become muddy so I stick to the path but I still enjoy this short walk. But yesterday morning it made me think too much.
The little park has resident homeless people. They congregate on the church steps or huddle on one of the benches. As I was rushing along the path, a thousand inconsequential thoughts running in my head, I caught sight of these ‘tramps’. They were wrapped up in puffa jackets, woolly hats with the obligatory check laundry bags containing all their worldly goods. There were about half a dozen of them, male and female, and they were engrossed in conversation.
‘I wish I was carefree. I wish I had nowhere to rush to, no targets to meet, no bills to pay. I wish I could sit on a bench, wrapped up and warm in the autumn sun. I wish I could sit and philosophise with my friends.'
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