You stood in the park, eyes scanning the crisp morning that was sprawled out before you, sunlight freckled the sloping grass and offered a little warmth to your cold body.
You took a shaky draft of the breathless autumn air, it was fresh and tasted of every early morning in your memories, of butter on toast as you scurried out the door, those long walks to the school bus and collecting conkers in this park as a child, of visiting the beech to watch the stormy waves and collecting the smallest pebbles, distant times that brought a faint smile to your face. But this was today, and mornings like these played on repeat, 6am you would be at the park, alone, walking the paths and being that out of place individual who sat on the swings, hoping to be little again and find the same thrills in this park as you did back then. The peace of innocence, when drinking was apple juice, being high was on swings and the greatest threat a boy posed to you was cooties.
You drifted to the melodic movement