London 16 - The longest day of the year

The Longest Day of the Year
    
   There's a scene outside the Regent's Gate on the Bridge that crosses the narrowest part of the pond. There's a white police van with blue letters and orange stripes, and a silver Peugeot decked out in the same regalia behind it. There's a couple in black running attire being interviewed by a vested officers in a constable's hat. She's got a white, brown, orange colored collie on a leash and the couple is joking with the officers. There are four more in uniform on the bridge - two are interviewing another lady. They're all "serious" but they're not serious. They interrogate with a smile and with tongue in cheek.  Strange things happen on the longest day of the year.
   A duck in the pond is doing front somersaults as it's bathing itself. A few of the officers start to leave - these two showed up late and are leaving early in another silver Peugeot, their services unneeded. Their car passes in front of my bench. I owe this bench to Wilma Elliot - thank you for this spot of rest and writing.
   They ducks are shedding - either that or the small white flowers on the grass by the pond are letting fluff fly past me, the officers and the bridge. I chose this bench by the pond because the one closest to the gate to my left was occupied by a very territorial squirrel who was unpacking some nuts from his fall foraging. The beast lunged at me as I approached the bench so I retreated to the comforts and safety of "Wilma's Bench".
   A tall couple walks past me, discussing in a Slavic-English accent their past travels. The man has never been to Russia but only to Ukraine. The dog is getting antsy on the bridge and has to relieve himself. His owner asks the officer in jest what the fine would be if the dog would let one go in the park. The dog and owner soon walk off the bridge and down the path away from me.
   The officers leave and hte joggers and their band of friends walk by me talking about them. They're not real officers but only PSO's (Public Service Officers) who must've been giddy at the chance to do something, anything. Two of the guys resolve to become PSO's one day, just for fun, so that they, too, can ask people unnecessary, prying questions in the park.
   A Russian tourist throws bread to the ducks in the pond and then photographs them as they swim to the dirtiest part of hte pond under the bridge. It's coated with twigs, long leaves and yellow-white sea foam. A red-eyed pigeon waddles up to me and I wave it off with a reclaimed magazine. I hate birds. It's an irrational fear from my childhood that has persisted far too long to go away now.
   It seems like every animal in the park is out right now and is restless, just like me. The birds are grooming or flying from tree to tree, crafting nests or building homes. A proud white crane towers over the long, uncut grass, motionless. I still don't know if it's real. More Russians walk by - I think they've found me. One large white swan is gliding at the edge of the pond. I think it's lost. It squawks every few seconds as it slowly floats toward the bridge. A bird in a tree by the pond answers the swan and loudly beats its wings against the still air. The swan goes on.
   A small group of private schoolers in their uniforms - black blazers, gray pants and white button downs - dig a branch into the foam muck under the bridge. I share their curiosity but not their publicity. A blond one climbs up over the edge of the bridge to get a better poke. He hangs over the edge with his right arm clinging to the railing and lunges out with his left. They're fishing for something down their - a soccer ball, grayed with muck... and they're pushing it further away. Another one tries his luck over the edge of the bridge and the ball finally squirts out to the boys waiting below - but who now wants to touch this wet, gross thing? They try to fish it out with the miracle branch and then with their feat. Again the branch and the ball is out, ready to be used for another focus. Strange things happen on the longest day of the year.
   The swan is now farther away from me but still at the edge of the pond. It is wooing a family and their young babe in a blue and pink stroller. More of the grass flower fluff is accumulating in the pond, gradually floating to the milky white heap under the bridge. The boys have lost their football again, this time to a more central location in the pond and out near the lonely swan. It's getting warmer and it'll be warmer still since the sun will stay out until ten tonight.
   A fat, gray squirrel keeps coming towards my bench and then retreating. I fear that I may be keeping someone from his Spring supply.