Thou art most fair, my beloved Botanic!

After a week living on Fitzroy I found that I longed for a lawn. I needed green, lovely, luxurious grass. Surprisingly for Ireland, there wasn’t a speck of green on the entire street. Then I had a brilliant idea, the Botanic Park!

On the sunniest day I could find I grabbed my book and headed towards Queen’s. Apparently, my idea wasn’t all that original because the expanse of grass was full of sunbathers. The scene was familiar but somewhat odd. That was it! This was grass, not the beach. Everyone looked like they had been abducted from a brochure for the white sands of Cancun. Beach towels, soccer balls and coolers cluttered the ground and the scent of coconut sunscreen filled the air. On the corner an ice cream truck was parked, keeping the multitude well fed.

I was quite happy to settle between a cuddling couple and a guy playing his guitar. With nice Jack Johnson tunes playing in the background I devoured the remaining content of my book. By the time that I had turned the last page, the sun was hanging relunctantly behind a cluster of trees and a cool breeze was wafting through. Encroaching shadows acted as a kind old Usher, nudging people from their places on the lawn. I lingered on to observe the unhurried exodus. By the time the last sunny patch was gone, the Botanic was nearly vacant.