On the shadowy precinct people have already been wandering here and there. It was quiet at dawn and the chattering sound wafted at the corner of the jogging track was clearly heard in the dark. The dry and cool weather seemed to call more people visiting the park before winter might begin soon. Inside the canopy by the side of the tennis courts the gossip group exercised on the bench instead of talking, while the branches above, but not me, bent the crispy dry foliage down from the treetops to find out the reason of the silence. I carried on the way to the cluster of canopy to prepare my painting station by pouring water on the other end of the bench to make sure no one would sit there while I was painting. Before daylight was bright enough for me see other objects clearly amongst the scenery, I started to outline the proper grid of the metal mesh roof. The oldie on wheel chair arrived requesting the walkers on the track to drop by and chatted to her loudly.  Since the top view was a bit too harsh for me to watch when I have to lift my head up too frequently that I spent most of time painting from memory instead, wishing to finish the picture within the endurance of my patience.


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