Homer Simpson calls that awkward month between Winter and Spring "Smarch." I don't know what the Summer into Fall equivalency would be, but we're in it. Officially Summer still, but the weather definitely smells like Fall. It is even raining, and I'm sitting up stairs listening to the pattering and dripping from under a blanket, post 5-mile run, post shower, post oatmeal. We need the rain so badly. Yesterday I walked over the river and saw a college student taking a photo of the pipes and old pilings on the riverbed, visible through the shallow water, and I imagined explaining to him the history of current and past Washington Street bridges and ferries, but that would have been weird and awkward. Although maybe not as weird or awkward as the time I was watching a eagle from the same bridge and asked a passing high schooler if they wanted to see an eagle and the stranger danger reflex closed their face down so fast as they hurried on by.
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| The view from the Washington Street Bridge, complete with goose, and car tire exposed by the low water levels. You can see why I'm happy about the rain. I actually got caught in it running this morning, and considered sheltering under a tree canopy, but then I saw the very fit twenty-something who'd steamed past me a few block back had stopped up ahead, sheltering herself, and so I kept right on plodding past her for my final half-mile, showing her how it was done. |
I actually planned to show you this photo of a tree, but, as you see, writing is generative and I distracted myself into a different direction.
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| There's always that one tree that turns well before the others, as if to taunt us that winter is coming. Or tease us with a preview of the fall colors that will precede the cold bare season. Recreation Park. Yes, that's what the park in my neighborhood is called. Although everyone just says Rec Park. |
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