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Short Stories

Thoughts in Spring
by AndrewJames

Has been a member for 5 years and 3 months

It is a normal spring day and I decide to have my lunch break in the local park. I sit on a bench under the shade of a tree with the wind blowing through the leaves, causing shadows to dance on the manicured lawn. The weather is good; warm enough for summer clothes, yet not hot enough to complain about. Flower beds adorn the park, hibiscus, chrysanthemum, azaleas and more, a patchwork quilt of flora.

The park is a hive of activity today, an assortment of people, professions and past times. A man not much younger than I am walks past me in his well pressed business suit, talking on his mobile phone a little too loudly trying to sound important to those in earshot, or trying to sound important to himself.

An elderly couple are sitting on a picnic blanket on the lawn, their silver hair shining in the afternoon Sun. Homemade sandwiches and cakes in brown paper bags, their faces are content but their eyes tell a different story, for after a life time of love, sharing and companionship; should one of them pass, the other would be truly alone.

A young female runner jogs past them, her toned body a billboard for her generation. Her even strides cushioned by the latest running shoes and designer sunglasses to block out the Sun. Tight fitting running clothes worn to enhance her performance and to leave those who look at her envious, an object of their sexual desire and manufactured jealousy. She runs past a group of teenage school kids; as she passes, the boys mimic the bounce of her breasts with their hands, much to the annoyance of the girls, who roll their eyes, yet they cannot hide a small amount of jealousy.

A young couple with smiles on their faces, walk past hand in hand. They watch their young toddler kick a bright orange ball, he squeals with delight, his rosy cheeks and innocent eyes oblivious to the hardships he will one day face but for now, he is content with sugar coated treats and colourful images on the T. V.
The park, the people the scenarios all of them a postcard, a cliché of modern thought and actions.

A small bird grabs my attention, a sparrow I think. He is doing a little hop type of dance in front of a clump of bushes; he darts into them, coming out with a small bug in his beak and flies up into a tree. He returns moments later to do the same thing again. The more I watch his antics the more I wonder about him. I wonder if he is feeding his young and is it just instinct that drives him to do this, or is it parental love. Will he get frustrated if he cannot get enough food? Will his little heart swell with pride when his young take flight for the first time? Does he know of love? Does his heart skip a beat when he sees his mate? Will it break if one day she does not return? Does he know of fear? Will he cower in the treetops when a storm comes crashing down upon him? Does he know of racism? Do other birds treat him unkindly because he is not the same breed as they? Does he know of joy? Will he sing that little bit louder when the Sun is shining on a clear day? Does he know of God and creation? Is he aware of me, as I am of him and does he know of man, or war and death? If he is aware of all of these then I feel sorry for him, for why should he suffer the folly of man and yet, if he is not aware, I am equally sorry for him; for the wonder of life is a thing to behold and the joy and sorrow it brings is a thing to be shared by all.

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