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Leaves of Grass
May. 3rd, 2008 08:19 pmLying on Regent's Park's grass, right by the main passage that leads through the flower gardens in the south east corner. Red, orange, white and wine-coloured tulips surround us, their mouths gaping at the sky. Magpies sing from the trees, hop on the fresh grass and disappear into the perfectly trimmed hedges. Families, couples, tourists and groups of young people stroll by in sweet harmony.
Before we found this spot, we walked past a woman sitting by a flower bed, by herself, writing what appeared to be a poem into an A4 notebook. I couldn't see her face, hidden as it was underneath a white hat. Her feet were bare.
Most of the benches are taken up, though it looks like people prefer to walk or lie on the grass. We certainly prefer to be on the horizontal. Kevin brough with him London The Biography and he's now reading the chapter on the city becoming a megalopolis. Ricardo, Lila and Helena (brasilian friends we ran into on the canal, near Camden) are taking naps.
A tree rising from the hedges to my left has a few droopy white flowers hiding behind its dark green leaves. I can hear a bird sing loundly from its branches, but I can't find it; it must be tiny. Other birds respond in kind from nearby trees.
I don't mind getting these jeans dirty with mud and crushed grass; it still smells from the curry I had on Thursday at New Tayyab. Washing load this weekend.
Passou um grupo de jovems brasileiros, com cara de paulistas.
Some people sit by themselves on the benches, eating pre-packaged sandwiches or simply watching life go by. The sun has turned us all into lazy lizards. The tulip flower beds are a constant source of tourist photographs (guilty as charged, with my Holga and my automatic Olympus.) I have no clue what time it is. Maybe it's 3pm.
Before we found this spot, we walked past a woman sitting by a flower bed, by herself, writing what appeared to be a poem into an A4 notebook. I couldn't see her face, hidden as it was underneath a white hat. Her feet were bare.
Most of the benches are taken up, though it looks like people prefer to walk or lie on the grass. We certainly prefer to be on the horizontal. Kevin brough with him London The Biography and he's now reading the chapter on the city becoming a megalopolis. Ricardo, Lila and Helena (brasilian friends we ran into on the canal, near Camden) are taking naps.
A tree rising from the hedges to my left has a few droopy white flowers hiding behind its dark green leaves. I can hear a bird sing loundly from its branches, but I can't find it; it must be tiny. Other birds respond in kind from nearby trees.
I don't mind getting these jeans dirty with mud and crushed grass; it still smells from the curry I had on Thursday at New Tayyab. Washing load this weekend.
Passou um grupo de jovems brasileiros, com cara de paulistas.
Some people sit by themselves on the benches, eating pre-packaged sandwiches or simply watching life go by. The sun has turned us all into lazy lizards. The tulip flower beds are a constant source of tourist photographs (guilty as charged, with my Holga and my automatic Olympus.) I have no clue what time it is. Maybe it's 3pm.
