6:15 a.m.: Traffic cones, so new they shine, line part of Penn Avenue in Wyomissing. The bright orange-red cones contain the wording in fresh black stencil:
T R A F F I C
S E R V I C E S
For a couple of days, cones on the curb have contained handwriting on paper that forbids parking on the street from 6/21 – 6/??.
A Wexcon work truck is poised for action.
At Dosie Dough, Marsha and the author of this post commiserate about plants that wilted over the weekend due to heat and insufficient watering. Marsha takes responsibility for not having left a note for the counter help to check on them; at Oak Hill, the writer neglected to remind the constant gardener.
“Where have you parked?” Marsha asks. “What does today mean?”
“It’s a three day,” says the writer. “Today is for family, ancestors, green, wood, trees and the number three.”
Two Wexcon guys in Feng shui correct safety lime green tee-shirts come by to let her know to move the bakery van off the street, please, so they can work. Note to the brisk and businesslike: file Wexcon in Helpful People and Travel.
Before arrival at the park, a quick stop at the post office to weigh the book of Twelve pounds makes it not so light reading.
The east beckons: walk this way. Near the three marker, a slender heron stands on ripply rapids whose shallowness can be measured in inches. It flies to an arc of limestone rocks that projects into the creek, selecting a stone furthest from the shore. A moment later, it stands in the water on one leg.
Heading west, two herons fly in the canyon created by the crowns of trees along the water. The route is a distant cousin of the corridors made by city skyscrapers. The birds swoop and turn around in a gentle joyride when they reach the mill-dam bridge. The larger heron is on the bottom; the smaller leads from above.
Ruth gives me her painting to deliver to the Goggleworks for Design Drink and Be Merry. I think it is fantastic.