The blanket is spread out on the grass in the sun. Picnic food laid out ready for consumption. Sandals are off; book is open ready to read. I position myself close enough to the shade that the ancient growth of trees offer but just in the patch of brilliant sunshine, feeling the need to soak up every last bit of the summer’s heat. I know all too well it’s coming to an end.
I can hear the delighted squeals of the young children as their mums push them on the swings, the gentle hum of passing cars and the loud buzzing of the cicadas from somewhere up above. When I first came to Canada I had no idea that the noise was coming from a massive, prehistoric looking insect and not in fact from the overhead electricity wires!
I bit into my sandwich with gusto not realizing just how hungry I was. I swiped away a pesky wasp and decided to put my sweet drink back into the picnic bag so it wouldn’t feel the temptation of that too. My daughter texts me from class to say how she wished she was doing what I was doing instead of supposedly reading inside her boring math class. We continued to message one another for a while as she had just landed the role of Brigitta in her school’s production of The Sound of Music. Her excitement spilling out in her use of many happy face emojis in her messages. She says she can’t wait to show me her script, happy face, happy face, happy face. Insert my own happy smiling face here.
At the same time I’m texting and trying to silence my grumbling tummy, that wasp has continued to bug me, annoying me to the point of doing the crazy lady dance of flailing my arms around and looking like I’m participating in some sort of new age dance movement barefoot in the park! My hatred for those striped little buggers is warranted; anybody who climbs into bed, bare skinned between the sheets to feel the excruciating pain of the sting will sympathize. I can’t stay still when they come near me, no matter how much you tell me to “stay still and they won’t hurt you”. You’re lying, they do!
At the point in my flailing dance that my sandwich flies through the air and lands on the grass separated back to the original individual components, I decide to move. Grabbing my belongings I head over to the bench in view; granted it’s in the shade, but I’m so annoyed at this point and not wanting to give in by leaving. Damn wasp is not going to win!
As I plonk my stuff down, I see the graffiti. The crude writing written in what I can only imagine is a black ‘sharpie’.
“Don’t climb the mountain so the world can see you, climb the mountain so you can see the world”
Park benches are even talking to me now and crazy, arm flailing, dance lady is listening. Happy face, Happy face, Happy face.