He sits under the tree, on the wooden bench beside the man made lake, surrounded by trees planted not by natural processes but by human hand. Does it make the setting more artificial to know that the park was created as a green space in an urban landscape, that it is no more natural than the housing estates that surround it on all sides, than the motorway that he can hear rumbling on the distance? He smiles, quietly, softly as a single tear runs down his cheek. The cold wind drawing the liquid from his eye perhaps? Perhaps…

She stands, her back to the cold wind as she draws on a  cigarette, the glow illuminating her face briefly. Forced to stand outside the building by rules created by people she didn’t know. The leaves recently fallen from the trees crowd the building in drifts, the smoke from her cigarette blurring the building edges softening the hard lines. Is it natural to stand outside in the cold like this, the light from the building blocking her ability to see into the dark, obscuring any starlight. A tear runs down her cheek as she draws the nicotine into her lungs. Smoke in her eye perhaps? Perhaps…


About Autistic writing

Im 46, autistic and vocal about it, a specialist autism mentor in higher education, embarking on my MEd in adult autism, autistic advocate and campaigner, writer and co-founder of asP - the autism strategy partnership #differentnotdamaged #askaboutasP

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