The View

The view from Brockwell park is simply wonderful. I’m sat on top of the hill looking towards the city, which has a blue grey cloud hanging ominously above it, making its slow approach across London. Here in Brixton it’s still sunny, with a few white fluffy clouds drifting along. I can see cranes dotting the horizon, and the top of the Shard towering above everything else. The flag flows straight out on top of the Houses of Parliament. If I were in the next seat over I know I’d be able to see the Gherkin and the cluster of buildings around it marking the City of London. The London eye would also glisten, full of tourists happy to see London on a good day in the sunshine. Wembley with its arch soaring above the stadium would appear in the distance. 
Closer to home I can see the green grass rolling down in front of me, a few dog walkers ambling along, some waiting impatiently whilst their furry companion abandons them in favour of some fascinating smell in the undergrowth. Large black crows are scattered around the field, pecking after some tasty morsel. A man with dreadlocks and no shirt is doing handstands, a woman lies on a blanket appearing to sun-bathe. The local health freaks are jogging around, some setting up camp to do a routine for all to see, their tracksuit covered bottoms up in the air in strange poses. Young families stroll out, a little girl with a toy pram pretending to be like daddy, whilst mum is on the phone. Lily, her name is, and she’s striking out on her own, aiming up hill to collect handfuls of grass, depositing them in her trusty pram. 
I can hear the drone of aeroplanes above, and the distant rumble and creak of the park wardens in their vans. The local parakeet colony screeches from the trees, and the wind blows, rustling the drying leaves. The horn of a train sounds, and I catch a glimpse of white carriages traveling past Herne Hill. I can hear the distant joyous screams of children in the park, they won’t mind the approaching cloud, dimming the view. I however would need a thicker jumper, and so must tear myself away from the wonderful Brockwell park.
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