I wonder what they are dreaming about, escaping from their present perhaps. It must be a brief respite from the burden of choosing, the obligation to decide about every waking moment. They have changed a lot since I was put in this garden. They walk faster now, talking into little blocks of black and white, blue and yellow slabs of responsibility. They don’t look any happier, just more distracted. I’ve been moving around here for quite some years but no one has come to gawk or exclaim that the statue is moving. Not the devoted, not the cynical. If I could climb down from this misshapen column, I would tell them that they missed wins and falls, songs and rhymes, kisses and blushes. I would tell them they are missing life.
I’ve always loved the Iveagh Gardens. It’s a place to take a breath in between moments of madness. It promises quiet in a city that is filled with great big thuds and bumps and wallops. Sirens roar and people stomp. And the noise engulfs us all.
But today, I sat and watched the clouds go passed and the grass grow.