Sunday, April 25, 2010

Afternoon in the Park

Dear Diary, the day began as a new day should. Breakfast, followed by a quick turn around the vegetable patch, as I checked upon the resurgence of a grub that appears to love cabbages. Curled green leaves with holes nibbled along their edges remind me of a torn broderie angliase frill on a petticoat. Niece diligently sprinkles a dull white powder daily, but to no avail.

Preferring a stroll around the park two blocks closer to town, I declined my Nana Nap, and grasping my sturdy walking stick with its polished brass lion's head, headed out the white wooden gate that helps keep unwelcome creatures, animal and human, from straying up the garden path. The Park beckoned; double iron gates tall enough to deter an elephant entering, welcomed visitors to meander the gravel paths that intertwined tall trees and flowering shrubs. A wooden bench snuggled enticingly under a shady tree whose wonderful red flowers attracted the buzzing bees. The walk had exhausted me. I slumped onto the bench, and sipped from my water bottle.

All was at peace with the world. The blue sky, the buzzy bees, and a black and white magpie that strutted inquisitively towards me, all pointed to a perfect day.

A small dog of indefinite breed; short legs, black fluffy coat badly in need of a cut, a pointed black snout, long hair impairing its vision scampered around enjoying the freedom of being off the leash.

The magpie took exception to its presence and fluttered, menacingly in its direction. The dog, seeing the beginnings of a game, barked and ran at the magpie. Magpie uttered a protest. Dog barked louder, and longer. I sat to attention. The makings of a serious disturbance seemed imminent. Not certain whether to hurry home, or sit tight looking invisible, I plumped for the latter.

Without warning magpie flew off; dog, perhaps frustrated by the sudden departure of an adversary, ran, yelping excitedly in my direction. Suddenly frightened I let out a scream and tried to clamber onto the bench. I fell sideways, as my balance no longer is reliable, and landed in an untidy bundle on the grass. The dog, appearing not to recognise a disaster, ran yapping at me, and sinking its teeth into my posterior left a bruise the size of a saucer. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and it was only the arrival of a kind gentleman that saved me from a fate almost as bad as death.

Dear Diary, Harold, [I did ask his name, as a lady should not speak to strangers] graciously walked me home, and feeling a little less shattered, I invited him in for a slice of carrot cake and a cup of tea, as a small token of my appreciation. Niece, thankfully, refrained from asking too many personal questions of Harold, whose entrancing blue eyes have me spellbound.

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