Cameron waddelow

The 'Soulskine' Journal

A black 'Moleskine' book. That’s all it was. Every household has one and is usually filled with doodles or sketches, poems or paragraphs, to-do lists or minutes of meetings. When James Ackerman found this one on a pile of freshly fallen leaves it didn't look any different to the one he keeps tucked away neatly in his nightstand, forgotten along with his stash of self-help books, half read and gathering dust. What a coincidence he told himself that his eyes should fall on this little treasure as he wandered under the thick veil of horse chestnut trees that bordered the local park. It was that time of year as Autumn was in full swing, the once lush green leaves started to show weary signs of speckled brown. Conkers littered the ground and the sight of them pulled James into a not too distant past when he would scour this very same park for the fattest ammunition to destroy the competition in the traditional conker at school. His eyes were drawn to the ground through this instinct ingrained in him from childhood. He picked up the small book, dusted it and gave it a quick once over. The leather was pristine, the elastic that kept it closed was still springy, but most surprisingly the pages were still dry despite laying on the slightly sodden earth so typical of the late British Autumn. The book must not have been there long, maybe the owner wasn’t far gone? James scoured the pathways that snaked through the trees. No movement. He decided to keep walking, there was a bench up ahead through the clearing just off the large cast iron gates of the south entrance to the park, his favourite spot. The perfect place to dissect this rare find. He plodded on fixated on the ground beneath his feet.