Had a fairly quiet weekend. Friday afternoon I drove to the beach and listened to quiet music on my iPod. I went to Wales on Saturday with my girlfriend. It snowed great big feather snowflakes that covered the hillsides and farms in a seemingly never-ending white blanket, that looked like clean white sheets on an un-slept-in bed. Back in England, the snow hadn’t come, just the rain.

Didn’t do much today. Went to the gym in the evening, came home watched a bit of TV. Then went downstairs and cleaned up the kitchen. Collected all the boxes from Christmas and my Birthday that were too big to put in the bin, then took them out to my backyard to have a little late-night fire.

The air was still and not as cold as you might expect for January. I piled the boxes then lit them and stood back. Within seconds the flames were eating through the cardboard-like hungry wild animals savaging a newly killed prey. I sipped on my coffee, and listened to the music on my iPod while I made sure every last bit of cardboard was burned.

As the flames died down I was about to go back inside to the warmth of my apartment when I decided to go for a walk instead. I opened my not very functional back gate and just walked down the path to the little road that takes me to the park behind where I live.

I walked past the tiny cottage into the park that was bathed in silvery light from a full moon shining from a cloudless sky. The ground was spongy, the grass wet, and the trees bare and ghostly. I made my way to the children’s playground and sat on the roundabout that I slowly span with my feet while starring at the stars. After a while I went over to the swings. The chain-linked rubber seats were cold but it didn’t stop me having a few swings in the night, completely on my own in the park, not likely to be seen or see anyone else, not that I cared. Then I just there and listened to my music and the wind in the trees making sounds like the ocean. The dead of the night was unusually bright. I walked on some more.

Along side the railway line, now sleeping like everyone else. Past the allotments and the goal posts of the football pitch where I’ve never seen one game of football played. I took slow pensive steps accompanied by only my thoughts and my shadow. In the rose garden I sat down for a few moments on one of the many park benches. There are no roses yet. A plane so high it could not be heard, drew a long white line in the night sky. I watched it travel silently on it’s way until it was out of sight. I sat back in the chair and blew little clouds of warm breath that quickly disappeared into the chilled night air. Everything was still. Everything was so still.

I took a slow walk around the barren rose garden, then made my way along the path under the great oak trees that have stood there for years keeping secret what they’ve seen. If only the trees could talk, I wonder what stories they could tell. They stand close together as if watching out for one another, like the last remaining soldiers on a fallen battlefield. The orange glow of street lights grows brighter as I walk along the path toward Mayor Hall and the park gates.

I wander slowly back along the village road, past the front of Mayor Hall where the clock tower tells me it’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. The red post box by its front gate stands like a guard at a century box. Past the Rose and Crown pub where you can get a pint of real ale, if that be your poison. I make my way along the path back toward my apartment, a path that will be lined with daffodils comes the spring. Past the tiny cottage on the edge of the park and behind my neighbors thatched cottage with its towering dove cot.

As I once again open my back gate the embers of my cardboard fire still glow. The sound of the wind chimes in my neighbors garden mingle with a night birds song and the jingle of my keys as I look for the key to my door. Then I turn and look at the sky once more. A deep long gaze out into space. I’m cold now. I step into the warmth and shut the door behind me.