A Hint Within the Riddle
Walking from the corner of Gospel Oak toward Parliament Hill, I resisted the urge to break out the mobile and make a phone call. Solitude today, I thought. I’m going to greedily keep this beauty to myself. Perhaps I’m feeling more generous toward you this evening. Supple, warm air flowed across town today. The weather softened like mud in a soggy field. People’s behaviour seemed gentler in accordance with the clime. The colour of their clothes alternated between easy earth tones and the strong scarlet and blue usually reserved for the darkest days of winter. Is this February or April?
As an older woman in heels and hat passed, an intense floral scent lingered after her. I’d have to smear rose petals across my nostrils to get such a smell from nature. A few minutes later, as I walked through the rows of redbrick terraces on the way to the Hill, I encountered the delicate scent of real flowers. This was a first hint of Spring after so many days of heavy, cold and lifeless air.
Atop Parliament Hill, the weekend paraglider crowd swished their gear around trying to find the perfect thermal. The thermal is the gush of air that sends them flying off in search of yet another plume of warm, rising air. One of the hopeful pilots wore a black leather exoskeleton that sculpted Batman-like musculature along his limbs. He appeared quite medieval with his dark complexion, goatee and long hair. The woman I took to be his lover rummaged around a duffle bag in response to some request of his. Don’t women ever get tired of holding their boyfriend’s/lover’s/husband’s things in their bags? I often try and avoid this dilemma by wearing a coat or blazer, but on occasion - especially in the summertime - I have asked to stash something in the ever-useful handbag.
The usual crowd milled around either admiring the paragliders or the view or took no notice at all. These are the young families with children in bright, spotted wellies, the slim and chic in jeans and Chelsea boots, the purposeful tourists muttering Italian and twisting their maps as they wend their way across the Heath. My ears were full of broken conversations formed from the pleasantries of the sort that families exchange at the dinner table.
“I like that place just fine, we’ll go there. Well, yes, of course they’ve got the game on there!”
“You’re very good at being diplomatic; you say the right thing at the right time. That’s diplomatic.”
“Honey, don’t touch the doggie’s tail! Let the nice gentleman have his coffee.”
That’s my coffee to which the young mum referred. I wasn’t sure if the sneezy pooch or the kid would knock it from the bench first. I set it there just a few moments before in order to scribble all this in my notebook. Note-taking finished, coffee saved, cute child still tormenting dog. All is well.