Where Is The Green

A car park with a solitary groaning tree. Not the most magnificent specimen of it's kind this one. It oddly looks forlorn and lonely. 

Forbiddingly derelict, it labours under the yoke and choke of dust; urging by it's mere sight to be left in peace. A closer look would probably reveal that it's yearning, earnestly thirsting for water, yet with little success. Not too green a space I suppose.

I walk on. I come to a bridge. Down below a yawning artificial river trickles by. It is as if it is ashamed to be, for it's raison d'être, the rainy season, has come and gone. 

The fury of this residential drainage contraption, the pride and gusto of it's torrential flow, has long since petered out. Utterly weathered dry to little more than muddy broth. 

The bridge above though no bigger than a modest footpath, stands imperiously - domineering and impetuous - laughing down at the wiggly smudge of a river that occasionally licks it’s foundations. 

Besides these two antagonists, right there on the river side, a welcome shock of exuberance resonates. Lush, green grass grows wistfully, waving to all caring passersby, swaying with every gentle kiss and whisper of the wind.

Without a care in the world and tucked within the grass, unseemly weeds burst forth with boastful flourish.  Undisturbed by either grazing herds or diligent mowers, they too grow joyously and resplendent. 

But alas! Modesty has no room on the river bank. Abundantly nourished the plants too seem to proclaim their ascendancy on the dying dehydrated river.  Yet these are no more than mere weed and rogue grass. They are unwanted, besieged and utterly insignificant in this wilderness of residential flats. This is green space too - I suppose.

Detached by the daily runs for the mundane exigencies of existence, I pretend I have no relation to these green blots and their daily play for survival. I own not the landscape plants nor do I plant the wily weeds which grow of their own accord.

Road side bush and woefully ignored decorative plants, is what I dourly enjoy and have for green space.

M Wycliff,

Nairobi.

PS: This incomplete piece of writing was actually something written out of context - I was meant to write something completely different. Instead of killing (by deleting) this orphan article of mine - am giving it transcendent immortality in this here humble blog.