The park next to my house

I live in an old tree, next to the park. It is a small park and it is not famous, but I know it very well because I go every day.

In the morning, when the rain stops, I climb down from the tree to look for food. I spend a while watching the ones who pass along the path. There are always pigeons near the benches, waiting for a bit of bread.

Mr. Badger arrives at ten, always at the same time. He brings bread for the pigeons and they surround him at once. I have a lot of fun watching how they fight over the biggest crumbs.

On Saturdays the park changes. The families arrive and the little ones play hide and seek among the trees. They hide very badly: they laugh the whole time, and that is why I always know where they are. Their parents keep themselves busy talking on the benches and do not look at the clock.

When the afternoon ends, everyone goes home and the park falls silent. Then I climb down again and walk beside the water, without hurrying. I enjoy it more now than in the morning, because the park is only mine.

I do not need to go far. My park is next to my house, and for me that is enough.