Afternoon. Under scorching heat. Was running through the undergrowth at MacRitchie Reservoir. The soil hard. Not really teeming with families, or couples on their nature walks - only the occasional joggers. I surprised myself, reaching the Ranger Station with minimal effort - the last time I gave in slightly halfway. A group of students was there, with cameras in hands. Waiting, for what I had no idea. Children, with parents and grandparents, taking a rest before trailing up Tree Top Walk. The gush from the water cooler somehow denied me its sweet, cold familiarity.
I was soon on my way. The same buzz. The same sun. A golden ager seemed to have changed his mind, turning back from where we had met earlier. The stony trail had once been a hindrance to my weak ankles - not anymore. Passing some teenagers playing Frisbee on the narrow track, they clapped in jest, or perhaps in genuine appreciation. The dull scent of sludgy mud caked on my running shoes.
Nearing the golf course, a young lad was rather trudging. The wind was taken out of me under the open sky, billows as wayfarers in the far horizon congregated above the reposed "V" where forested banks meet. The lake of sheen ebbed softly. Breath-taking. Away from everything. Like an animal, I crouched by the water green with moss, and sipped to wet cracked lips. Lukewarm. Sated, I passed the junior eyeing me curiously. What am I? Untamed yet human.
Under the green canopy with interwoven thigh-like trunks, a blur of white flashed past, just missing and landing behind. The number 3 was on the white dimpled ball. I threw it back to its owner through the shrubs, almost instinctively, doubting if I have spoiled a golf game. Muffled benedictions echoed.
Some teenagers, cameras slung, snapped away at a languid morning lizard, three metres perhaps, as it entranced me with its scaly brown morphed into nooks and crannies of shadows and flora.
It's an incredibly beautiful planet we dwell. Our treasured inheritance.
- Sunday, 17 May 09