Something else used to be here. A park bench, possibly. Some soft lawn and a few shrubs. A tactile place, with smells of old wood and colour of life. You could lay on the lawn and stare at the flags and feathers mix with the clouds as they drift north into the sky above the sea. I can remember it. Just, if I stare long enough. Someone is playing. Hide and seek with no-one to be found. A futile game, like most. Winning what? Someone must loose. It's the nature of things. Like the grass that used to be here. And the trees.
What's left to capture my attention. Well manicured space with precision planting and a rock to look at. It can't hide from the child and his game. For a moment the space fills with the past and is gone. I am still. The past will not return. I stare in hope.
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