Victoria Park Notes - Versão traduzida em Inglês.

Traduzido e com algumas correções. A primeira verção em português já foi postada aqui no blog há um tempo já


"    I am in front of the Victoria Park’s fountain, in a cafeteria located inside the park, watching the sunset, which shines especially bright today. 04:15 PM - There are ducks, swans, geese and pigeons flying over the lake screeching to each other in a strong and cold wind, but my cappuccino is still hot.

     No. My cappuccino is no longer hot and the cafeteria closes at 4:30 PM. I will anticipate and sit on a bench beside a tree by the lake, which begins in late February to take colour, but I am still facing the fountain in the centre of the lake and also the park’s cafe on the other side of the pond. Because its symphony and visual beauty, I suggest getting silent and just listen.

     The sounds I hear are formed by the aforementioned source, the occasional "quacks" of ducks, the screaming children who are learning skating with their parents watching alongside as eagles guarding their chicks and the trot of runners and cyclists pedalling. Also, there are some couples , relating to his dogs, barking and sniffing, one in particular tried to urinate on my leg just before receiving a warning of his respective owner, others tried to frustratingly grab the pigeons or are afraid of the cold water not ventured not even wet his paw.

     According to my hearing was absorbing the most subtle whispers of the surroundings, dusk and the wind blew stronger. I looked at the clock - 4:35 PM - and returned to capture the sounds that were offered me.

     Could not pass without not been heard the noise of the wind, which the newly emerging leaves gave voice to the trees, the works in the adjacent streets, the cars coming and going and whistles as occasional as the "quacks" from the ducks filled the fusion between what is natural and what is urban.

     Every second, the clock announces the gradual reduction of the sun’s strength -4:40 PM. I have work to hold the sheet of paper, which now makes the tear, shiver with cold, leaving me barely legible (those who know me well should imagine) and now, right now, my pen starts to fail.

     What I see and feel do not differ much from what I hear. The sun about to set, projecting horizontally, both on grass and water on the tarmac, beautiful shadows of the trees, the fountain and buildings. Everything now is getting orange and once again I am around the clock - 4:50 PM - the fast and glamorous farewell in the morning. There was an elderly couple that I also watched, but now they up and left. The children, with nothing to give to the pigeons, complaining to parents saying they wanted to go home, were cold and his legs ached. Even the ducks were coming over and quiet. A swan was up to the lake shore, just in front of me, and with all its beauty, grandeur and arrogance, looked at me fixedly probably meaning "Go home!”

     St. 5:04 PM - I can hardly see the sun, urban life began to gain more prominence, some pubs, which still can not attend, have been moving toward open, my hand was red and purple does not open anymore. Again the clock - 5:09 PM

     5:13 PM - Only the crazies live in the park; hallways that scare me, to make the latest and icy parts of its course, being only a shirt and shorts, the last couples who survive the cold, those who cut way to avoid catching the dark streets, the night watchmen, who have just arrived, ducks and squirrels and the fountain, the same fountain, that never tires, just like my watch - 5:19 PM - and a young writer sitting on a bench and freezing to death .
     I look at the clock again - 5:20 PM - It's getting dark soon, I'm afraid that my blood freeze, the ducks are gone and then we the park will close. I’ve put my gloves on, pack up my belongings and went back home."
 
 
 
EM BREVE: A primeira parte do meu primeiro conto que fiz para a aula de inglês.