Meant to be

‘twas a pleasant spring evening. I had come to Melbourne Park to find something. Something that couldn’t be found elsewhere. I was so sure that I’d find it here. Afterall, this was central park, the most magical place on earth. I couldn’t begin to describe the picturesque scene before my eyes. The quaint blossoms, the marble-like water and the trees, that stood as a guardian over the pleasant park were only a miniscule description of the treasure that lay before my eyes. And thus, on this quest of finding something I’d lost, I ended up mesmerized.

Spellbound by the way the mother duck fed those tiny crumbs of brown bread to her ducklings. Dazzled by the route the leaves took when they dislodged themselves from the branches, they called home for so long. I walked around a bit more, now with two objectives. To find that missing and something and to constantly amaze myself with the splendorous beauty Melbourne park had to offer. As I embarked on this mystical journey in a place, I’d, in such short time fallen in love with, I felt a tinge of excitement, and nostalgia.

Now, standing right on the banks of the Yarra River, looking below, at my twenty-seven-year-old self, with a few pale hairs, scattered around this black, bird’s nest on my head, I smiled at my reflection. In a few hours, when I’d find what I desired, I would be ecstatic. And in this flurry of thoughts, I had not realized the white flakes gently drift down and settle on my leather jacket. My muffler was keeping me warm, but I knew that in a few short hours, I wouldn’t need it anymore. I’d have found that little something to keep me warm. My beanie, covered in snowflakes, had transformed into a dry ice-like color from the dark grey that it was. There were so many changes. So many new beginnings.

The crimson leaves now had white flakes to accompany them on their journey to the ground and beyond. The ducklings had their mother to keep them safe, they weren’t bothered the least bit. Neither were the neighborhood kids, who were enjoying themselves thoroughly. It was snowing, the sun was setting, and the leaves were rustling in the gloomy wind, that blew my beanie into the ice-cold water. Off it went, floating further and further, until I could only hope. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

I was captivated. The scene looked just like one of those paintings in the art museum I’d look at and go, “Wow! That’s amazing!”. I was entranced in this enchanting spell cast upon me by mother nature. The geese were starting to take off into the west. The river started contracting, giving way to the ice that would blanket it soon. The poets and artists started jotting down things in their book. People started taking photographs of the mystic scene. It was so beautiful to watch. It was a panorama in front of my eyes. It was a It was a memory that’d never fade away. But Alas! It just wasn’t meant to be.