Realizing that someone is talking about you behind your back can be a jarring experience.

Realizing that two strangers are talking about you through the trees more difficult to categorize.

I had gone for a walk in the sweltering heat.  The last few days have been marked by temperatures that are neither unexpected nor unseasonable, but definitely uncomfortable. I was out for my morning coffee and had spent a couple hours in a local cafe writing, and on my way home the thought popped into my head that I should go for a walk at the botanic gardens when I bought a pass earlier this summer. It is a beautiful park full of flowers and shaded paths and quiet, contemplative places to sit, even in the heat—maybe especially in the heat. Yet, to say that I had not thought this out nor planned accordingly was an modest understatement. I didn’t wear sunscreen, I neglected to bring my art supplies, I had not a drop of water with me, and I was dressed head to toe—literally—in black: black shoes, black shorts, a black t-shirt, and a black baseball-style cap.  My walk took me back into a sheltered garden near the far reaches of the park, and as the heat had grown over the morning my lack of preparation was catching up with me. I sat down on a bench to plan my next move.

Set far back from the roadway, and at least twenty kilometers from the city limits, the ambiant noise there was limited and I could hear the voices carrying through the trees. Kids on summer camp field trips were laughing and shouting in the distance as they played near the edge of the pond with aquatic nets, the summer gardening staff were rustling about with their equipment whilst they pruned and watered and tended, and just past the copse of trees where I had been walking a few minutes prior some stranger was gossiping about me and having a detailed discussion about my poor choice to dress in a black wardrobe.

They were not wrong.