Scenes from a park bench.

Yesterday was the first decent day in Glasgow this spring. Now, I sit on a park bench in Queens Park watching the world pass me by in its time honoured fashion.
The gulls and pigeons swarm about, using mob tactics to get what they want while a duck sits on a nest, barely big enough to fit her, in the southern end of the pond. Three men walk by, oblivious to the world around them or where they are putting their feet as they are transfixed by the phones in their hands. They might as well have stayed in bed for all the attention they are paying to their surroundings.
I watch a lady in tight blue leggings (there is probably a fancy name for them that justifies their over inflated price tag), she is going about her exercises with step ups, side steps, squats and all sorts. I am diverted momentarily to look down at my notes and when I look up she has disappeared. Gone, not there. Vanished.
A father and a toddler approach slowly, their pace dictated by the little one who looks like she is only a week or so into walking. Her smile at her achievement is obvious. Just then, Mr Fit blazes past with an ease that I find disturbing given my own limitations. In but a few seconds he is a distance away.
An elderly person approaches, using their cane to aid them in their walk. They whistle a tune as they pass me, but given the coat, hat and scarf they wear, I am not sure which gender they are, or whether it really matters.
Most of those walking around the pond are on ones and twos. A lady in a shocking red jacket, dog walkers a plenty and a young couple who walk for thirty paces before turning back to sit on a bench opposite me with their coffee in hand.
Another couple of couples converge near me and then I spot the man feeding the pigeons. There must be fifty of the flying vermin at his feet, then, bag empty he turns and walks away, swinging the bag as he goes. A cloud of pigeons rises from the ground and scatters.
Someone on a bike with a full jacket sized high viz vest scoots by in a whirl of wheels.
I look up again to find the coffee couple have disappeared, right at the same spot where blue leggings lady vanished too. Maybe there’s a portal there to another world or the watchers have beamed them up as good breeding stock. It makes me curious and that, for me as a writer, is where the magic begins.
I’d best be going, I have a webinar to watch in a couple of hours’ time and lunch to fix before that, so, my fellow writers, keep watching, observing and keep writing.

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About purpleandrew

Andrew, recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome is a 54 year old former geologist always had short hair, suited & booted for work. That all changed when the credit crunch hit. Now a complimentary therapist, hospital radio presenter, and writer. Andrew writes crime thrillers, Young Adult, and fantasy books as well as blogging about writing and other stuff that he feels strongly about.
This entry was posted in fantasy faery story, Glasgow, research, The Handbook of TOP TIPS To Manage Your Writing, Uncategorized, weather, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Scenes from a park bench.

  1. Margaret Vatrican says:

    Felt as though I was there !! 😀😀

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