A Walk in the Park

Sun, for the first time in days, breaks the horizon in a perpetual sunrise, beckoning me to dive into the frigid air and explore.  Everything looks greener in the light, healthy and gleaming, warm despite the crystal wind that slashes at my bare hands. The castle puffs its chest out to the sky, the British flag erect in a salute to the people below.  Buildings cluster together in haphazard lines along the edge of the cobblestone street as if they are huddling from the cold.  Commuters also line the streets, spilling over the sidewalks and into the road, although there are no cars in sight. The bluetooth headsets seem strangely out of place in the eyes of the Victorian windows.  They remember the days when the cars were replaced by carriages, and instead of street clothes, there were hoop skirts and tailcoats. Instead of a video store, there was once a candle shop, and instead of the H&M, there was once a tailor and a tailor's aprentice.  At the end of the street, I am greeted by a Roman wall, the fingerprint of history standing tall and unweathered against the blue sky.  I run my hand against the moss-covered stones, the days of battles and blood and triumph fading behind centuries of rain. I cut through a secret archway into the courtyard.  Inside the courtyard, brilliant goldfish are swimming in a pond.  Children lean over and drop pieces of bread into the water, so that the fish may swim up and pluck the food from the rippling surface.  Various walking paths stem from the courtyard, and I follow one of them to the edge of a river.  I wind behind the weeping willows, and though they are brown with winter, their branches are rich chocolate color in the sun.  They sweep and swing in the breeze, the tips of their branches skirting the waves and dabbling in the current of the brook.  Ducks glide across the water in flocks, gathering to gossip about the glittering day.  The swans stand aloof on the banks, ruffling their plumage with blinding whiteness. I could sit and watch the swans for hours, but the clocktower chimes call me back home, where tea and scones await me.