(most of this has been re-written and some is hidden - look at the source code!)
21:19 Parliament Hill already dusk, nice evening, grey, cold, jet planes quietly descending, some above the clouds, some below...
...i paused at the bottom of the hill to look at the strange sight of treetops seeming to disappear into a nearby hilltop that is also the horizon
i sit on a plastic bag on a wet seat... sounds of quiet conversation...
i see a cat, no it's a fox, taller ears, a different walk, more jumpy, less relaxed, it came within 20 metres to eat discarded food beneath an unoccupied seat.
now nearly all the other people have gone, it's getting dark.
the feel of the air, after rain, is damp yet refreshing...
i see a firework explode about 15 km away across the city.
... i think it's time to go...
...but more people arrive - all young.... as so often these days i am the oldest one here - they are younger than my children.
i open the handheld again and stay to write more impressions of this moment, as precious as is any... and yet what we see and hear and feel is immune to all of us - the the world (that we create as we perceive it and believe it) seems to ignore us ...
...i imagine everyone finds this view over the city as wonderful as is any sight - or work of art - because it is one (though not recognised as such)
as i walked away in near darkness i stopped to touch a small white flower growing in the grass... i could just see it.
(these pages are designed to be read with the window set to two-thirds of the screen width)
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© 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 john chris jonesIf you wish to reproduce any of this text commercially please send a copyright permission request to jcj at publicwriting.net