He was stretched out on a grassy spot beside the river bank, hands clasped behind his head.
The sun was warm on his closed eyes. He had no idea he would end up here today. He was just passing when he had turned off the main road on a whim. The car park was almost empty when he parked, with hardly a soul around. It was perfect, really, for a trip down memory lane. This is where he came as a student, all those years ago. He lifted his head and looked along the riverbank. In his mind he was returning; going back. This is where they moored the boats, he thought. You could hire one for an hour and row upstream for half-an-hour, then turn around and drift back with the current. Yes, he thought, they were good days, alright. He would study hard week after week, then drive up here with fellow students for an afternoon in the summer.
He would give anything to go back, to return, to be there. Would he really? Of course not, he was in a different time now. There was no real going back. In truth, he had no real yearning there. No, life moves on; it moves you on. He sat up slowly and checked the time. He needed to go. He was expected. Life moves you on.
Halfway to the car he stopped and looked back. There may well come a time, he mused, when life has moved on yet again, a time when he looks back and remembers his visit to this place. Would he then wish he was here?