Take a walk in your local park and you’ll often notice nothing beyond the odd jogger

Someone struggling with a buggy

A dog or three, concentrating on its business.

And showing that there’s a canine response to some of the notices

But it’s easy to miss the specifics.

The bench memorial, to an unknown, much loved local

The tennis courts, and bowling green empty yet expectant

The community garden, poised for another smattering of volunteers

The clock, a gift from a self aggrandising Victorian

Toilets

And more notices

Signposts

And sandpits, with the odd little brick turrets

And shelters

Woods

Open heath

Sport for all: A lido

An out door gym

Swing beams and cyclocross

And a lonely waterfowl

Joggers

And a memorial to a brave young man, dead in 1915, winner of the Victoria Cross

Who, like our little park

Not forgotten.

Give the parks their due

They’re a diary

A memorial

Births and deaths inter-twinned

With all the life in between

London is a lucky place to be, methinks

With a park on every corner.

I hope all of you, my readers, are going to find your own little microcosm today, a package of life’s richness: not all good, not all bad, but together a worthy enterprise, this living thing. Make the most of the Living Years, no regrets please.