I remember, when our family first started talking about moving house last year, we started discussing what we’d want in the new house. My sister said her own room. My mum said a bigger kitchen. My dad said an extra room to use as an office. My youngest sister wanted a garden big enough to house our trampoline. My brother just needed more space. I didn’t care. All of that sounded lovely, sure, but I didn’t want to think about what I wanted in a house. Because to do that was to admit we were moving. And if you start asking for something in particular, you are more likely to be disappointed. I said nothing when these discussions popped up.
But there was one thing I did want. Tucked away in the back of my head, there was this one tiny little part of me that just repeatedly said, “Let us move closer to South Park.”
Our new house. Everyone has their own room. A kitchen diner twice the size of our previous. An office for dad. A decent garden for the trampoline. And space, space, space. And it’s 15minutes closer to South Park. A gift.
I took a walk to the park yesterday evening. It only takes at most 10mins to get to the top of the park now. The sun was starting to set behind the trees. It cast elongated shadows across the grass. The park had a strange other-wordly feel about it. It was completely empty. From the top of the hill, the shadows cast by the trees at the edges of the park weren’t visible, and the leaves didn’t even shiver in the slight breeze, making them appear as if they had been photoshopped in on top of the strangely bright grass, reminiscent, somehow, of the main room in Willy Wonka’s factory. Seagulls with dusty-black heads strutted in pairs, their jerky movements making them seem robotic and toy like. When I saw one fly off, it did so laboriously, as if unaccustomed to the effort. Three partly deflated balloon perched, stranded, on one of the top branches of a tree. They hung like oversized, exotic fruits against the dark green.
The park has so many different… characters. Somehow. This is why I didn’t want to miss it. Give me a camera, world, and I’ll document its changing life.