The park itself is just one round circle, in the middle of downtown. It is surrounded by university campus buildings and a few museums. Traffic is routed in all directions, so the circle serves its purpose as a giant roundabout. It shares its name, Queen's Park, with that of the provincial legislature building, which is found nestled between various buildings of higher learning.
It is on a long, green, wooden bench, the first of three, that I sit; the Queen's people passing me as multiple paths converge and then disperse again. I am joined only by a lone man on horseback, whose sole purpose is to guard those he sees, and remind us of an era that has long passed.
I feel the subway once more, reminding me that my time of accompanied solitude must soon come to an end. My brother might be wondering where I am, seeing as it is about 40 minutes after the time I normally arrive home. I know I must go, move from my solid position of legs crossed, head down, pen in hand. I must rejoin those who pass, those with a destination. A destination is what I seek, and although this park in the heart of the city is where I find comfort, it is not where I need to be. So I untangle my feet, raise my head, and commence my journey home.
♥ Turtles
Written February 17th, 2011
