Tonight I ran in London Fields as day turned into twilight. Sometimes when I walk into the park once it's already dark it doesn't feel safe. If I'm already inside as it turns though, it's absolutely safe. Like tonight, I can accustom myself to the park citizens as I make my rounds, a little better with each one, until it's the newcomers that are the ones who need to fit in, the odd ones out, not me. Then it seems as if London Fields is a microcosm, a small community, a perfect little system of happy coexistence, safe because everyone is there for the park. There is a kind of respect involved in that. You'd go elsewhere to look for trouble wouldn't you? That's how it seems.
There is the dark haired man at the far market end of the park, fading into obscurity but there on every one of my rounds - each time I make him out later and later - his tai chi matching the slow but constant movement of the heavy branches all above him. Leaves waltz to the wind’s uncertain rhythm as his arm shadows glide serenely through theirs.
Next some lovers sit on a bench, small intense kisses punctuating earnest conversation. They are watched attentively but from a distance by their Boxer, erect with correct paws, patiently guarding their time and space. They stay in the gloam until my last lap when they get up as if shaking off a dream to deal with practicalities; perhaps getting home, getting fed, getting warm.
At the near end, furthest from the tai chi practitioner are three dog walkers. It's unclear if it's a pair and one fellow walker, or three separate walkers, either way united by dogs. Their animals roam free and far, looping back towards their owners for assurance and ball throwing. All three walkers wear big coats and bulky clothing and I can't make out their gender. From their forms and the way they bend into the conversation with good natured industry they look middle aged, companionable, sure of their place, their activity.
Over at the east side of the green (the dark side), the wind is fierce against my face the path is gaggled with youth. Hoods and loose grey jersey flap and slope as plans are made and uncertainty reigns. Further up, approaching tai chi territory again but still in the glow of the market two men sit on a bench and gesture largely to each other, t-shirts stretching over their bellies. There is a smell of alcohol but they aren't drinking.
I found some peace there, but as I left the nearly full moon wore an expression that must have been mine an hour before.
