There's a park on the edge of the city where I live. It's a beautiful park, a large park. It has a bandstand and a fine display of council, municipal planting. In the summer it hosts picnics and concerts. In the winter there are reindeers and twinkling lights in the trees. It has a large pond with ducks, geese and swans. As a child I was taken to town on a Saturday morning by mam and grandma. We'd meet up with grandma's sisters by the pond in the park so that I, "the bairn" could chuck bread to the ducks. I remember all of this. I remember the group of old ladies, all sisters, that I walked around the pond with as I chucked bread to the ducks. I remember being the centre of their world as I walked around the pond with the old ladies, and my mam. I remember listening to their gossip, as grandma and her sisters caught up with a week's worth of news. I continue to walk around the park on Saturday mornings, and all those memories flood back every ...
