It was a nice day.

It wasn't hot, the sun wasn't out for prolonged periods even though, when it was, it was warm. Hot, even, maybe – occasionally.

The clouds in the sky were thick, meaty, bulbous against the blue. Not threatening. White, with grey where the shadows fell. No sign of rain.

He walked up the pavement opposite the main road. Cars shuttled past at great speed and, when buses passed, he smelled the petroleum exuding from the exhaust pipe. He refused to look up to meet strangers stares through the glass.

He held his book. His muse. The weekends entertainment.

He wandered through the tall green park gates and scoped it out. The grass was vibrant with a sheen from yesterday evenings rain showers. He could smell wild garlic from somewhere close, and pollen. He shaded his eyes from the sun bouncing off a white glare, reflecting from the Palladium glass.

He made his way towards the benches on the hill.

He sat down on an empty bench surrounded by empty benches, crossed his right leg over his left, and opened his book. A book of poetry, Frank O'Hara. He didn’t love it thus far, but the poems were short. He could dip in and out, lose his place, find it again.

The book gave him something to hold while he watched people. While he eaves dropped. He closed his eyes and let the sun on his face. He thought about death.

He opened them again when he heard laughing. Women in burkas sat on the lawn in a circle, facing in, talking to his right. Dog walkers passed with tennis balls and cheap purple plastic sling shots. Joggers went by with white dots in their ears. Old couples held hands and moved along the path, careful.

She sat down on the bench to his left. The first thing he noticed was her chestnut hair, tied back into a bobble, glistening in the sun. Her petite nose, her wild green eyes that looked sort of tired. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, if any.

She held a coffee in one hand, a dog lead in the other. A medium-sized dog sat beside her, enjoying the warmth of the concrete. Some sort of hound. A mutt.

She patted the dog, then ran her hand from its neck to its rib cage. The dog flopped onto its side and let out a sigh. She patted its underside as he watched its diaphragm rise and fall. He momentarily forgot about the woman on the other end of the lead.

Someone dropped a coffee over at the kiosk to his left and screamed. A dog nearby barked. He looked over at the woman; she was looking too. They caught each other’s eye and she smiled. He smiled back.

Her dog just laid there basking in the sunlight.

He ordered a coffee from the man at the kiosk.

The man had strong arms, defined forearms, thick wrists. Wide-built, but lean. He looked intimidating, standing up in the kiosk truck.

A flick of brunette hair fell above his right eye.

Blue eyes caught the light.

When he returned to the bench, he was glad to see she was still there; drinking her coffee, staring out into the park. She didn’t acknowledge him.

The dog tracked a bee that teased it and danced around its head. It snapped at it, but the bee slipped away.

Without looking, she leaned over and patted the dog to settle it. It worked. The dog forgot about the bee. The bee forgot about the dog.

He read a few pages of the book.

They were quiet together. He was aware of it. The silence felt shared. The same sounds around them. They shared the same breeze. Heard the same laughter in the park. An ambulance from the road passed at speed.

He wanted to ask her how she was. Where she'd like to find herself in ten years time. What the dog was called. He wanted to ask her if she'd like a hug. A kiss.

He looked her up and down. From her scuffed running trainers, her jogging leggings. Her arched back, good posture. A gilet over a training top. She paid him no notice, just kept looking out into the park.

The women in burkas got up and left. The dog acknowledged them with a raised head before settling its chin back on the gravel with a huff.

The sun hid behind a cloud. The temperature dropped. The grass lost its sheen for a moment, until the cloud passed and the sun returned along with its warmth.

He could sense relief from those around him when the sun returned. The mood changed. The woman did not move. She showed nothing.

A group of what looked like students walked into the park, noisily, and began setting up a game of volleyball. They hammered the posts for the net into the ground with a small rubber hammer that made a dull little noise.

When the woman got up, the dog jumped to attention, looking at her for guidance. She turned and, for a moment, he thought she might come and sit next to him. He held his gaze just over the top of the page of his book so that, in his periphery, he could see what was happening.

She stepped out, walked past him. He felt the slight breeze of her movement. She didn’t stop. She walked past his line of sight and away. He could hear the nails of the dog’s paws on the concrete. They faded behind him. She was leaving.

He stayed where he was. The book open in his hands.

After a while, reading the same poem over and over. Looking for others, he heard excited voices. A male and a female. He looked behind him. She was there, standing in the trailer kiosk with the man who had served him coffee. They were talking, laughing.

He continued to stare. They paid him no mind.

He watched as the man said something and they laughed together. Then they embraced, then kissed.

The dog sat tied up outside the trailer, then lay on its side, tail wagging, its head outstretched.

It was looking straight at him.