dear internet,

i. macritchie
i jog the five hundred-ish metres to the gap in the hedge, and then past the horrible pet geese with their horrible red ruffs around the necks and my cursed knowledge that they have teeth on their tongues, and then there is the playground/workout area, and then my choices are tactile. upwards is uneven, with rocks protruding and leaves strewn across. there are monkeys and once there was a snake, longer than i am tall and yet somehow camouflaged so that we didn't notice till it was pointed out to us. the boardwalk offers me, through my earphones, the rhythm of my feet against the uneven planks, and the water blue-green to my left, but my run is stop-start, the path not wide enough for someone to pass me. to the left is the concrete path that makes three different parts of my leg hurt in three different ways. if i cross the bridge i can reach the quiet spot on the other side of the reservoir before sunset, and watch kids in their kayaks row around the spots in my eyes. these days i am separated from my emotions more and more; what i want from the park is a feeling. i listen to julien baker louder than i've ever listened to anything. you're gonna run, it's all right, everybody does. one day i watch a man fold newspaper before he sits on the pier to watch the sunset. i'll think about him for years.

ii. richmond
i went because there were deer. it was raining, an itchy hay-fever drizzle through sun. when i bought a salad at the pret at the entrance a wasp followed me so doggedly that i ended up throwing my cup into the dustbin, scared. i saw the deer before i'd gone too far. i stood amongst people and took photos on my shitty phone camera but it felt too close to being at a zoo and so i walked across the grass, slightly squelchy, and watched them alone. i was in a corner of a city i didn't know and i was all alone and if it rained i was going to be so drenched and so far away from the single (single!) entrance, and i can't even remember if i had a phone charger with me. i'd seen deer before: zoos; yellow-green eyes in headlights in a college campus; distant movement from the top of a hill. but not so close, not so obviously, remotely separate from me. i walked so much that day in a park that was just grass and occasional ponds, passing a toddler in boots sturdier than my cotton on flats, someone feeding a swan. if i didn't write about this day somewhere nobody would know how it felt—when i sat down at the top of a slope and below me, just out of the reach of my camera's zoom, were antlers. when i think about that day i think of how i stand in museums in front of pieces i love and just wait until the room empties and i am alone looking at something that's not looking back at me. 

love,
t