Cuckoo's calling (continued)

Sunday evening. A week after Equinox, the elements are smiling and nature is teeming with life. In the wake of a bleak winter, the tableau of darkness is illumi...
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Sunday evening. A week after Equinox, the elements are smiling and nature is teeming with life. In the wake of a bleak winter, the tableau of darkness is illuminated by rays of light and, amidst everything and everyone, stands proud this tree, reaping the benefits of the Sun’s warmth. It is some fifteen years I have been coming here to jog, feed the ducks and beguile the tedious hours. Yet, nothing in this park is carved in my heart and mind as deeply as the aeonian giant. In my eyes, it is a symbol of antiquity, a tower of strength and, conveniently, about this time of the day, a pointer to the West. Its foliage comes and goes like snake scale, but its eyes are ever watchful. This tree has seen it all: from owls hissing to couples kissing and dogs pissing.

As the Sun started bowing out, I took this shot. I waited for the full dip with bated breath, hoping to capture more of the golden splendour, but fate intervened...

- “Hello?”
- "It’s me, where the fuck are you?... At the park? You boring bastard! Come down, we are waiting for you!”

I dropped everything, packed up and left. It was a crying shame, but on a plus note I got to drink a few Guinness to its longevity, as I always do.
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