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Swaying peacefully in the light breeze, the maroon tulip petals unfurled like brush strokes. An intricate composition, the club shaped petals were etched through with inky black streaks towards the base, fading into a scarlet red towards the tips. The apricot orange stamen stayed fixed in the center, a meeting point for the rest of the flower to grow from.
A pillager of the park, a bee hovered in the sunlight beaming around the flowerbed, stalking for its next victim. The dragonfire orange abdomen was streaked with sable-black stripes, carried on its thorax by iridescent silver wings. Buzzing wildly, the bee searched vigilantly for treasure, lurking to find the gold dust of nectar.
The flowerbed itself was a portrait of liveliness, framed by a short stone brick wall, with jungle green vegetation growing over the sides the flowers bloomed with colour; flaming reds, blushing pinks, golden yellows and regal purples. Emitting a fresh, ambrosial scent across the park, lavender, tulips and pansies blended into the lake, scattered with lotuses and water lilies floating effortlessly on the clear water.
Dashing around like an Olympic sprinter, the icy-blue dragonfly drifted above the lotuses on the serene water. Its glass wings glistened in the sunrays, reflecting colours of rosy pink, sea green, and periwinkle – a beautiful configuration. The dragonfly dipped and weaved over the flowers, travelling at the speed of light.
Not far from the flowerbed, a man dressed in all black – perhaps around twenty years old – slouched on the park bench, a stark contrast from the rest of the park. Perched on his long, mousy brown hair, his headphones blocked him out from the rest of the world. His fingertips on his right hand drummed on his thigh, possibly to the beat of the music. In his other, heavily tattooed hand, a hand-rolled cigarette was pinched between his ring-clad fingers.
Beneath the surface of the lake, scattered with twigs and leaves, a carp cruised elusively through the bottle green waters. From above, you could only just figure out that it was there, its foggy grey back speckled with gold dust, the bejewelled armour of its scales hiding in plain sight. A ghost of the water.
Further out on the lake, past the lotuses and the emerald green lily pads, a man canoed rhythmically, drifting through the water. Small birds chirped in the line of willow trees behind him, (the branches of the trees reached out like arms, dipping their fingers into the waters) singing out, communicating to each other in arpeggios. The man rowed through the water, moving the oar like muscle memory. Switching from port to starboard. Starboard to port. Port to starboard. The movement distorted the jade waters, leaving ripples, faceted by silver reflections of sunlight.
A small waterfall was obstructed by the branches of the trees, a beautiful sight to behold. The water cascaded down over the jagged rocks from a height, that formed a curtain of mist and pearly foam. The sound of the water was soothing and relaxing, as it splashed onto the rocks below. The pool at the bottom of the waterfall was crystal clear, and you could see the rocks and pebbles at the bottom, like looking through glass. The air was cool and refreshing, a slight breeze waving through the trees.
Within a few short hours, the light had begun to fade to black. The ornate, Victorian style lamps had begun to flick on, casting the park with a faint bronze glow, like stars in the clear night sky. The waterfall was far louder now, able to be heard from miles away, but not loud enough to mask the sound of the clicking and chirping of crickets. Never loud enough. Back at the bench, cigarette butts were scattered on the ground around the bench, many of them now burnt down to the filter. One lay on the arm of the bench, still emitting plumes of pallid-grey smoke, seemingly abandoned in a hurry.