The clouds drifted every so slightly this way and that, wispy little nothings with nowhere in particular to go… Except one. One was full, and fluffy, and knew exactly where it was going on this brisk, fall day. And so did the person on it.
Mary Poppins surveyed the city of London from above. The smoke stacks, the busy people, the rushing cabs, and the church steeples all combined to make her give on of her rare, small, smiles. She'd always liked London.
She'd been quite happy when she'd realized her next post would be in London. The last child had been terrible. A skinny little weed of a thing, eight years old, and greedy as a pig. He'd insisted on all kinds of sweets, and trips downtown, and pet birds, and who knows what all else, and his mother - foolish woman - had given them to him. He'd caught crickets and put them in tanks with spiders, just to "see what would happen." Repulsive little boy. And of course she'd done what she could - she always did - but her professional opinion was that it was to late for him. And it had made her generally sick with the human race. What she needed was a trip to London. And here was one, readymade.
Why, she wondered, did she like London best? Of course in her early days she'd been stationed there most often. And there was the bustle of city life which she had to admit to liking. But there were other places like that. In her usual businesslike manner, she pulled out a compact and powdered her nose, still thinking. Automatically she checked her bag, and made sure her hat was firmly on her head. Then she stood up straight - "Never, never slouch!" how many times had she said it? - and prepared to face her next job, whatever it might be. After all, she'd always had the best luck in London.
And she knew people in London. Uncle Alfred, and the local pets. That always made things nicer, to feel as though you were going to a place where you knew people. And you knew the place. St. Paul's and all the little parks, and nooks and crannies of London had long since revealed their secrets to her. She always knew where to take the children in her care for an ice cream, or a walk, or, she thought wryly, a scolding.
She was sailing lower now, on a convenient swoop of cold air, and the rooftops and people became clearer. She could make out a few individual landmarks. Cherry Tree Lane, she thought to herself. And somehow, conveniently - fantastically conveniently - the cloud changed direction. It gained a bit of altitude on an updraft, and with this added speed, proceeded towards the residence of Jane and Michael Banks.
Then, below her she heard an absolute racket. Cymbals, drums, honks, tweets, and very faintly, the sound of a Cockney accent, singing. She smiled, looking down. She could just faintly spot the crowd centered around a figure in the middle. Her eyes sparkled and she gave one of her rare, full smiles, the ones that lit up her face entirely. A person was lucky just to receive one in their lifetimes. The man making the racket below had earned far more than his fair share.
The cloud swept on, heedless of sentiment, or smiles. Wholly satisfied, Mary Poppins stepped off the cloud and opened her umbrella. Something within her had solved the problem of what made her like London best. And after all, it was always thoroughly satisfactory to solve a problem.
A/N: I know it's quite short but it's my first stab at a Poppins fic and I don't want to do any injustice to the material. (shrug) So please let me know what you thought!