Drizzles diminished on the cool bright precinct. A few people heading for the park at the same pace as me, they seemed not happy to see me taking snapshots. Though the park was gloomy, I could see the faces of people whom I did not recognized. Along the route, to my painting station via the back of the viewing platform, daylight shone for the Tai Chi coach to prepare for the class, while a few park regulars leaving the park after exercises. Except the cuckoo yelling pity cries, the pathway by the side of the tennis courts was quiet when the Snake Dancing Group not yet arrives, Meanwhile small birds on the trees chirped gently to calm down the anxious cries of the cuckoo that mingled with the dim roars from the vehicles and the mutter of people vitalizing the muggy park under the foggy sky. By the time I arrived at the cluster of the metal canopy, drizzles stopped leaving the bench wet. A guy dashed from behind me taking the bench at the rear while I was overlaying the wet bench for painting. To avoid seeing his stretching gestures, I chose to paint one of the half done pictures depicted with the sewage on the track in front of me. Yet peaceful moment did not last when the oldie on wheel chair arrived with her foreign maid, so I packed and leave.