5/ 28 

Londoners would go mad without their parks. This one in Russia Dock Woods would be missed. While the sun struggles though the tattered remains of yesterday’s storm I follow a winding path through a small forest of leafy trees. Except for passing planes and the occasional London Bus only the sound of dog owners issuing polite commands compete with thick bird song.

The path leads to a small pond rich in waterfowl.  One heron, gray and white, dominates it from his perch on an artificial float.  Gray feathers form eye brows that seem to arch when he hears my camera beep. (Must remember to disable that feature). A raft of mallards crowd the pond near my feet, separated by clumps of flowering yellow iris from their heron king. The ducks look for the pond, not me, for food. A small family of Canada Geese have staked out the far shore of the pond. The fuzzy goslings use their stubby wings for balance while walking.

An English Bulldog kisses me on the check as I draw the scene, apparently as uplifted by the morning as I. Did he also, I wonder, spend the previous day jammed with half the population of Barcelona, dressed in their team colors, on underground train cars as we all headed for the Portobello Road Flea Market? They are in London to watched their beloved Barca football club play Manchester United for the European Champions Cup. Did the bulldog have to listen to the Barcelona fans loud chants while walking from Leicester to Trafalgar Square or to the rain pound down on the Tate Britain’s old roof during yesterday’s sharp rain shower? He certainly wasn’t sitting in the audience with us last night when the London Philharmonic performed an emotionally draining program of Haydn, Mahler and Brahms. More likely my new dog friend was simply overcome with joy by the excitement while running through this park on a sunny day after having been locked up in a little flat all week.