Regent’s Park, 18:48

Scraps from my notebook

Grass stains my weary feet

But I do not mind

For it’s a small price to pay

For this pleasant moment.

The tops of the trees

Become a gentle gold

As the sun slowly dips

Below the old regal mansions.

A little boy nearby seems to be a fellow writer,

A people watcher,

An observer.

I think we could get along.

“It’s been the hottest September day on record,”

A passerby casually remarks.

Even more reason to dig my toes into the cool grass,

To enjoy the light breeze riffling my pages,

To listen to the distant laughter of friends catching up over wine.

I am content.

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