Intricate graffiti on the railroad cars this morning – where were they sitting to have been painted so well? One boxcar has a fluorescent orange notice posted on the door: it reads OTHER SIDE.
Writers’ Group meets at 10:00 a.m., and the park will be crowded this Saturday of a holiday weekend, so I enter at another place that is quieter, for a brief visit. First I find a metal Tinkerbell charm. Then I find a turtle – a young turtle -and wish I could divine the plates on its shell. Then I wonder if grass, weeds and saplings ought to be growing on the top of the pavilion roof, because a small forest has begun. As I ponder this, a flying heron looks ready to dive-bomb the creek; it drops altitude and steels for a perfect landing on a spit of rocks before wading, drinking and fishing on the other side of the creek from where I stand.