WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

These days, it’s not just fries and soda that are super-sized! Well, yesterday I wanted to write about Sunday’s Super Moon and my walk on Monday morning, however, my boss, who was wending his way back from the Upper Peninsula, had a work emergency, so we began our Monday at 7:00 a.m. with over-the-phone dictation. We finished up, and, though I had an agenda, one quick glance outside told me the rain was moving in earlier than the mid-afternoon time frame the weather folks had predicted. I didn’t even go walking, and, when the rain started a short time later, as you know, it never stopped. I think I counted three, if not four, back-to-back torrential downpours, and, as I write this blog post, still another storm is brewing. I feel for the people with flooded basements as we lost alot of furniture and belongings when we had a bad storm like yesterday’s in the late 60s. I wonder if the weather forecasters look into their respective crystal balls and see any more super-sized weather disasters besides the dire predictions that I’ve already heard for this coming Winter? It seems we will plunge into another polar freeze, but not as much snow. Sigh. Speaking of super-sized phenomenons, even the moon goes into that category. I hope you caught a glimpse of it Sunday evening because the conditions sure were not wonderful to see it last night. I took a picture but it didn’t do it justice. Our next Super Moon is September 9th and I sure hope there are no other fractious weather disturbances simultaneous with its arrival. Looking at that big ol’ moon, it seemed like you could reach up and touch it – it was that close. It kind of made me wonder why, as a child, I really believed my folks when they told me the moon was made of cheese. Hmmm. Swiss? Pass the crackers please.

Music has the ability to take you back to another time and place … so also would this wooden tree house.

The Beach Boys are back in town … they are at Freedom Hill in Sterling Heights tonight. Back in the 70s my friends and I got tickets to see them every year at the old Pine Knob, and in 1976 I went to see them twice that Summer – at Pine Knob and the Canadian National Exhibition. The Beach Boys and their music were on my mind today as the past few days I’ve heard snippets of their most-famous songs in anticipation of their concert, including one of my favorite songs “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD4sxxoJGkA

Whenever it rains, I’m reluctant to go to Council Point Park for a day or so, due to the soggy ground and the mosquitoes, so for awhile there, I was wearing a path down Emmons Boulevard in the direction of the Detroit River. Sometimes, as you know from following my blog posts, I’ll just end up at the railroad tracks and sometimes I make it all the way down to Emmons and Biddle at the River. Without fail, whenever I pass the above house, I always look to see what new items have been added since my last foray down Emmons because their house, porch and front yard have a definite country flair and there is always some new doodad. About a month ago, I noticed the makings of a tree house had sprung up rather suddenly. It was located in a very tall tree and was fairly large. I snapped a picture of it at the time, thinking it was a wooden platform and a ladder and that was it. But, over the course of the last few weeks, incredible enhancements were taking place to this wooden tree house. Finally, it is complete – with a roof, porch, front door, windows, and even a sign that says “Follow Your Dreams” … well, I had to smile when I saw the finished product. The next time I see the man who lives in that house, I will give him an “Atta boy”, just as I complimented him on his cherry-red wooden seated rope swing he made for his kids and hung it from a big tree in his front yard last year. I even wrote about it in a blog post. He must be a super dad, huh? Although the Beach Boys are quick to lament being too young to take off with their main squeeze, and wishing they were older in the song “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?”, it would be the reverse for me after seeing that tree house, because I looked at it, just a little wistfully, thinking how fun it would be to climb up there, away from the rest of the world and just be carefree like a kid again. It seems we spend many years of our lives wishing we were older and all grown up, then we get to be older and have regrets for the paths we never chose, or the things we didn’t get done, though it’s really never too late to follow your dreams, just like the sign says.

I could even apply that logic to my walking regimen. Just a mere three years ago, when I began walking, I was triumphant over a trek that encompassed a five-block radius. Then I thought it was a big deal if I walked a mile. This morning I walked the equivalent of a 10K course, or 6.2 miles. For many years, I’d stand out on Fort Street waiting to board the suburban bus to take me downtown to work. I’d often see walkers as I waited on the bus and we’d pass the time of day, and, as I waved goodbye to those walkers to board the bus, often I’d wish I could catch up with them and leave the normal everyday routine behind me. But, I knew that one day, probably when I was retired, I’d be living the dream and walking as much as possible. Well, here I am now, not yet retired, but I still am able to follow that dream.

Today, I was up bright and early because over breakfast I decided I was going to turn my walk into a 10K trek. I figured I was in good shape to accomplish this feat since I’d walked at least five miles each day over the past five days. I got down to the Park and did my usual tour around, but today I did an extra loop, plus the mileage accumulated going and returning from the Park, so my pedometer registered right at 6¼ miles when I got home. I sure was whipped but I was proud of my accomplishment and said to myself “not bad for an old girl”, and, since my oatmeal from breakfast was in my toes already, I rewarded myself with a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich followed by a large glass of chocolate milk, delicious … and probably the meal of choice for a five-year old. But, as I enjoyed my little snack, I must say I felt like a kid again.

It dawned bright and beautiful again and I was happy to be blessed with another great walking day. I ate breakfast and was headed out the door by 7:30 a.m., donned in lightweight clothes, as well as blinders, as I blithely blitzed past the dust bunnies that called out to me as I closed the door. Maybe I’ll tackle them tomorrow, because on this early morn I was going to see the real bunnies and whatever else flora and fauna was waiting for me at Council Point Park. There, I found the usual fellow walkers or joggers as well as furry and feathered friends as I started along the perimeter path. I paused for a brief minute at the fork in the path, pictured above, as I pondered whether I ought to live recklessly and start on the left side instead. Nope – leaving the dust bunnies behind was reckless enough for one day, and, so I let my feet guide me as I entered the trail as usual on the right side. It was very humid and a large gaggle of geese had gathered at the baseball diamond and appeared to be resting quietly between eating gigs as none of them were grazing or even strutting around. By the time I finished the two complete loops, the sun was high in the sky and very bright and it was getting sticky out. The trail was also getting pretty crowded by then as well. There is a runner that I see every weekend and he reminds me of Sylvester Stallone’s “Rocky” character in the movie by the same name. No matter the temperature, he runs in several layers of clothes and always has a wool hat on his head. It makes me warm and worn out just watching him as he huffs and puffs as he goes ‘round and ‘round the Park perimeter path. Another guy ran past me several times as I made my way around the trail and he was tethered to an iPod, or some type of musical device, and had earbuds jammed into his ears. As he flew by, the music was cranked up and I could hear what song was coming from his ears … he, however, was singing so loudly to that music that he was oblivious to everyone and everything happening on the pathway. Besides the usual exercise devotees getting in their morning laps, including dogs, there was alot of activity going on near the more-open portion of the Park. Canopy tents were set up everywhere on the soccer field as well as a huge, authentic-looking teepee and a big metal stand which held eight canoes. I wish I could say they were birch-bark canoes, but they were just made of ordinary red metal. There were many Native Americans on the soccer field as well. I asked one of them what event was taking place and was told it was an American Indian Movement Pow Wow. The field sure was bustling with activity just as I was getting ready to leave and head home. It was getting very hot and humid as I walked up the driveway and I was glad to be heading inside, with no other agenda today, save downing a tall glass of ice-cold chocolate milk and enjoying a welcome sit-down.

I left as soon as the sun was up as I aimed to make a five-mile trek today. I had to divvy up my morning between a pleasurable walk followed by long-overdue yard work. When I left the house, the sky was a dappled, dark-gray color and it appeared as if it would rain, but the weather folks claimed the dismal-looking sky was just the result of the wildfires in Central and Western Canada. For my entire walk, it stayed hazy, and the sun kept holding back, hesitant to peek out, and instead, hiding behind those gray clouds, so it wasn’t very picturesque. I shot down to Council Point Park and found many of the regular fellow walkers already up and at ‘em. The middle-aged woman, who regularly rollerblades along the perimeter path, was lacin’ ‘em up as I passed her at the pavilion. I walked two complete loops and it was a rather unremarkable trip, save for a place where a catfight had taken place last night … oh, the fur must’ve been flying as there were tufts of thick, cream-colored fur everywhere … I wonder who won? The straggly looking weeds in the Park, growing untamed and wild with all the recent rain, looked out of place – even in this venue. I had to admit they’d rival some gargantuan weeds that awaited me when I returned from my walk. I waved or said my goodbyes to everyone standing near the parking lot, some whom I had passed at least three or four times on the trail. I walked slowly, in no great hurry to get home and tackle the grass, and my weeds. I changed to garden shoes and went out. The backyard was all abuzz with mosquitoes and bees and I kept swatting away at my face, (the only place where skin was showing), as I’d hear incessant buzzing about my head and hair and I wasn’t sure which pest it was coming from. I hoped they wouldn’t travel back into the house with me when I left their domain. It seemed that many mosquitoes were ganging up and honing in for an attack and no matter what I did, they landed and lingered with their pesky proboscis drilling right through my long-sleeved shirt. The incessant buzzing had me stopping to whisk off mosquitoes or wave away bees, and then I determined the buzzing was coming from the direction of my coneflowers. I keep hearing about the honey bee shortage nationwide this year … I’m here to tell you to look no further. The bees are back in town and they are in my backyard. A few chased me around the yard when I interrupted their breakfast and I swatted at many mosquitoes and interrupted their breakfast which was me. The yard work done, I dragged myself into the house and got cleaned up. After that, I don’t know where the day went … I looked at the clock when I came in from outside and it seemed the next time I glanced at it again, it was time to eat dinner. I perused Facebook and caught up with today’s e-mail and here I am at this late hour … well, it is a late hour for me as I am an early riser. I was proofreading this post and nodded off, awakened by a loud noise, probably a firecracker in the neighborhood. I started upright, shook my head, read faster and decided it was off to bed pronto so I may recharge and be ready to take on the world, one step at a time, in another eight hours.

I returned to Council Point Park this morning after an absence of over a week. I missed going there. Though the trip to the River is nice, I do enjoy my escape to the little nature nook stuck in the middle of the Big City, plus the resulting peace and tranquility I get from visiting there. It was very early when I arrived, but the perimeter path was already filled to capacity with walkers, a jogger pushing a baby carriage, a rollerblader and a bicyclist or two. Even a few squirrels scurried along the path looking for handouts, and I briefly felt remorseful that I had left their Ziploc peanut pack behind on the deacon’s bench when I dashed out the door.

The air was alive with the usual Park songbirds, and the trees were atwitter with whistles and cheeps as I walked along the familiar path. But, suddenly I heard a new and different tweet as I swiveled my head around to determine where the pretty melody originated from. I was lucky enough to see a beautiful goldfinch jumping on a nearby bush. His bright yellow body and striking white and black markings stood out like a beacon in the drab green foliage, and he hopped from branch to branch, warbling his song. I tried to match him tweet for tweet, but could not, and so he quickly abandoned me, probably in search of a better whistler to accompany him than me. He reminded me of my little Buddy sound asleep at home, and I sighed heavily because I knew I was going to ruin Buddy’s day with a trip to the vet later in the morning.

I finished my path loops and headed for home. Suddenly, I heard a rhythmic clicking noise and laughter behind me. My curiosity piqued, I had to turn around and see what was happening. It was a middle-aged couple riding along Electric Avenue on a bicycle built for two. Well, they looked pretty darn happy, pedaling all their cares away, and the woman’s laughter just lit up the still morn. They almost looked like twins in their black bicycle pants and powder-blue tees and they even sported matching black fanny packs. The man, who brought up the rear, was now laughing too, and trying hard to tip a water bottle to his lips at the same time. Their gaiety was infectious and I was sorely tempted to start singing, or at least humming, a few bars from “Bicycle Built for Two”, having memorized it during my accordion lesson days.

All too soon I was home, and got cleaned up and swigged some chocolate milk, then went to wake Buddy to get him ready for his vet visit – just toenails clipped today. As a general rule, just as soon as I remove Buddy’s covers and carry his cage out to the kitchen from the den where he sleeps, he immediately comes to life and breaks into non-stop singing. Then, after his initial serenade to me, I say “well good morning back to you little one.” For the second time today I felt guilty – me, with a natural high, just fresh off my nature walk, but I knew his bubbly nature would soon be dashed and his happy bubble would burst, when we strayed from our familiar morning routine. I started removing a toy and a treat which hang on the access door so that the vet could reach in and grab that little nipper to nip his toenails. Uh-oh … Buddy’s radar was up immediately and he got quiet. He knew he was going somewhere and he was suddenly subdued … so was I. He had a five-minute visit with the vet, and he must’ve squirmed as there were three large wing feathers laying on the floor of the cage, and soon we were back home to begin our regular ritual. I think it takes more out of me than Buddy, who the vet tech said was singing away in the back room and entertaining the staff. What a ham!

Once we were both settled back in, and throughout the day, I thought of that middle-aged couple on the bike built for two, and their unbridled joy in such a simple pleasure as pedaling along and just loving life.

My boss left for the U.P. today, a trip that will take him some seven or eight hours, and nearly 500 miles one way to reach his destination. Whew! Well, that’s more mileage than I’d accumulate on my car in two or three years’ time. In fact, this year I’ve only driven 168 miles which is way below what I’ve already walked in 2014.

Once again I decided the River in Wyandotte, at the foot of Emmons Boulevard and Biddle Avenue, would be my destination. I left early enough to beat the train going as well as returning. Last night the weather folks predicted fog for this morning, but there was none, although it was extremely humid.

Before I took off, I walked into my backyard only to groan audibly over the yard work that needed my attention – I’ve not mowed the lawn in three weeks due to all the bouts of rain and while the front yard looks okay, the backyard is getting long, but it was way too wet today to deal with it. I checked out my roses and they smelled heady … their petals were damp with dew and the moist air in the backyard smelled like perfume. (I wish I could turn my above picture into the scratch-and-sniff variety, but you’ll just have to imagine the fragrance.)

I shut the gate, and started on my trek, and, as I walked through the neighborhoods enroute to the River, I glanced at the various political yard signs on many of the homeowners’ lawns. I thought wryly that most of these people featured on the vote-for placards did not prevail past yesterday’s primary elections. I figured by the time I made my return trip home, most people would have slunk out and retrieved their yard signs and hid them in the garage or backyard ‘til next week’s trash. Oh well … better luck next time.

Man … it was humid and I could feel the clamminess as I strode along. At one of the houses I pass when I walk to Wyandotte, there are always two Rottweilers in a corner backyard. They are big and sleek and they stand guard near the fence. They always snarl at me and stare me down when I near their turf. I generally cross the street so I don’t go anywhere near them, and, as I usually do with any of the large or vicious-looking dogs on my route, when I near their territory, I grab my lanyard which carries my keys, pepper spray and big whistle, and I hold it in my hands until I pass them. Otherwise these dogs just go nuts when they hear the jingle-jangle as I walk along – they obviously associate the noise with dog tags and feel the need to defend their turf. When I grabbed the lanyard, I was surprised to find the keys, pepper spray canister and whistle were moist with condensation from the humid air. Even my shirt felt clammy.

On my trip today, the humidity, plus a bit of a breeze allowed many smells to linger longer than usual – like when I passed the large lavender garden on Emmons Boulevard. On moist or humid mornings like today, the smell of lavender assails your nostrils in a very pleasant way. I would like to co-mingle some of that lavender with my rose petals and preserve it for the Winter months – I know that just a sniff, or a whiff, could get me through that long, cold season.

I passed one home from which the smell of fresh biscuits wafted from a large kitchen window – ah, heavenly! A short time later, I passed a house with the screen door propped open and a bad odor filled the air – the unmistakable smell of burnt toast. Oops! Well, I’ve done that myself a few times and that odor does linger forever, doesn’t it?

While it didn’t smell like worms despite that torrential downpour we had yesterday, my nostrils detected what I determined was “Step 3 of Scotts Turf builder’s 4-Step Annual Program”, and soon the fertilizer nuggets which crunched under my walking shoes verified what my nose had predicted. Just another pungent aroma on this sticky morn.

As I meandered home, I mused about how I heard that it was “Wiggle Your Toes Day” and though I would not be flexing my little piggies on a sandy beach to commemorate the event, I sure gave them a workout as I walked through Wyandotte and my home town of Lincoln Park on this wickedly clammy Wednesday morn.

I left early enough to head down to the foot of Emmons and Wyandotte to catch a glimpse of the Detroit River. I figured I’d beat that train that comes through around 8:20 or so … and I did. The air was still and it was very humid and I had overdressed again, so I rolled up my shirtsleeves a few blocks from home. As usual, my mind was a blank canvas as I strode out of the house, ready to ruminate, reflect and recollect on whatever came my way. I’ve often told you that, depending on what I see on my morning walk, I may have that day’s blog post written in my mind, headline included, before I come back into the house. Sometimes I need to jot down my notes, lest I forget a good idea before I get a chance to sit down at the computer. This morning, however, as I walked along to and from my river destination, my thoughts kept returning to the Lawrence DeLisle story. It was a hot August night, 25 years ago yesterday, that Lawrence DeLisle piled his family into the car and drove off a pier in Wyandotte after nightfall. It shocked the Downriver residents and beyond – it made national headlines in fact. I can recall, just like it was yesterday, watching the 11:00 o’clock news that night. There was a media frenzy then, as well as in the following days and months, as the authorities obtained evidence and facts of that horrible night. The public glommed onto every detail. Of course, there was no internet coverage back then, and so we waited for news tidbits that came on the radio, T.V. or newspaper. This past weekend, WWJ featured an interesting recap of the accident and a series of interviews aired last night to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the tragedy. The interviews involved all the main players from the story, including eyewitnesses, the primary investigating detective, defense attorney, prosecuting attorney and even the judge who presided over the case. A series of articles, including a letter from Lawrence DeLisle, who declined to participate in an interview with WWJ’s Robert Jasina, was posted on the radio station’s website, and, for me, it served to bring that tragic story back to life. It also brought alot of memories back to me, especially seeing that photo of the four innocent children, immortalized forever after they lost their lives August 3, 1989 when the family car plunged into 30 feet of water at the foot of a pier in Wyandotte. Downriver residents discussed this case ad nauseum. My next-door neighbor at the time had been diagnosed with cancer, and his son, who had just completed his second year of law school, came home from Ohio to help take care of his father. So, this up-and-coming lawyer, and me, a former journalism student and legal secretary, had a friendly nightly debate about Larry DeLisle’s guilt over the backyard fence while tending to our respective yards. This went on for months as new evidence surfaced. Ultimately, the jury made its decision, but to this day, some are doubtful it was the right decision. Larry DeLisle writes that he has been crucified for something that was an accident and he has had to bear the grief of losing his four children all these years. Alas, many tidbits about the case weighed on my mind as I trudged slowly home from that same river, in the buggy, muggy atmosphere on this Monday morn. But, though I was warmish and swatting a few mosquitoes along the way, my mind was not on my creature comforts, but instead it was on the fate of those four beautiful children and their watery death all those years ago.

… has not been roving anywhere interesting the past couple of days. I walked and did errands on Friday morning which accounted for about two miles, and yesterday I spent the morning meandering around the aisles of Meijer, racking up nearly three miles, and gathering more canned goods to stock the larder for over the Winter. Yes, I realize it is only August, but, like the Girl Scouts, I like to plan ahead and be prepared. At Meijer, they have already signaled the end of Summer by putting all the back-to-school items out. Backpacks, lunchboxes, pencils, paper – you name it … the shelves are stocked, and I’m sure if kids are tagging along to the grocery store with their parents, just the sight of the school supplies is enough to spell doom and gloom for them. Labor Day is very early this year – September 1st, so less than a month for the kids to enjoy their Summer vacation. I continued that Winter frame of mind last night as I decided to create and order my Christmas cards online. I have a great Christmas picture of my little poodle and me, circa 1964, and I found a vintage-type background so I am pleased with the cards which will arrive in the next week or so, giving me absolutely no reason to be late sending them out. The Christmas card ordering dispensed with, I started to compose yesterday’s blog post, just about five minutes before the first long rumble of thunder occurred. I sighed, then switched on the radio and there was chatter about storm warnings so I shut down the computer, unplugged it and decided to catch up on a little reading … well, how did that work out? I nodded off a few minutes later and awoke to have Buddy singing at the top of his little lungs.

So, today was a “walking just for me” day. Quite frankly, I lost track if it ever rained last night because, although it sure was noisy enough, I can’t say I heard the pitter patter of rain. There was a heavy dew when I left this morning and patches of wet along the sidewalks where trees had dripped large drops of moisture. The sidewalks were a little muddy as there has been some type of contracting work going on the last few weeks in the neighborhood. I’ve seen large trucks hauling long wooden poles which are then placed on homeowners’ City property. I’ve yet to see the poles in a vertical, as opposed to a horizontal, position, though I ‘ve seen many workers up to their waist in the muddy trenches and backhoes flipping dirt everywhere. One day the poles are laying there, and the next day when I walk by, all the holes are filled with soil and topped with straw, but the poles are stuck in the hole. I don’t know what’s up, but I had to pick my way around big wet mud patches on the sidewalks and streets.

I’ve been collecting some unusual-looking tree pictures throughout the Summer and later in the year I’ll make a collage and talk about them. I had trees on the mind this morning as I strolled down a cross-street and noticed all these cut-up tree pieces stacked every so neatly on a homeowner’s lawn. I wondered if it was a calamity of last Sunday’s storm, or simply the right time to take that tree down. The smell of the wood in the moist air was heady and I bent down closer to examine the tree’s rings. It was not very old and looked healthy enough, but that house sure looked bare without that tall tree there – it is always a loss when a tree is felled.

I continued walking and turned onto Emmons Boulevard where I saw many yellow, red and brown leaves already littering the ground. Have you noticed how the days are getting shorter ever so slightly over the course of the last few weeks? Well, say it isn’t so that we are only around the corner from Fall!

… then bop on over to a nearby puddle to gulp down some cool rainwater, so that one may feast happily upon another hapless worm.

Well MY early morning was far more appetizing than the details recited above – for me anyway. I passed by a group of robins who were in their glory as they hung out together on a large and sopping wet lawn in Wyandotte. The worm pickings were good, due to still another rain shower last night and the dew-laden grass. Well, such was the morning agenda for Robin Redbreast and his cohorts. As to me, I enjoyed a warm bowl of oatmeal and some coffee in the wee hours of the morn and let the furnace run a couple of times to warm the house once again. I thought it was a little chilly as I hurried along after leaving home, having donned a Henley shirt with a tank top underneath . I figured that was enough clothing to wear, since a few minutes of brisk walking would have me shedding my jacket anyway, and then I would need to carry it the balance of the trip. But as I neared the Lincoln Park/Wyandotte border, the dim sun soon tucked itself behind the clouds and I actually got a little chilly. It was even a bit windy, and I watched many garden flags, as well as Old Glory, getting whipped about in the brisk breeze, then they subsequently wrapped ‘round and ‘round their holders. Brrrrr – a cold shiver caused me to pull my hands up and into my shirtsleeves and I was thinking ‘imagine feeling this nippy as we get ready to turn the calendar page to August’ – it’s just incredible.

I decided to make the River at the corner of Biddle and Emmons my destination this morning but when the tracks were in sight, I saw a train in the distance and didn’t want to wait it out since it was a work day after all, so I just did an about-face and headed home. On the return trip, mercifully, the sun started to filter through the trees which line the street and provide a huge canopy over Emmons Boulevard. It wasn’t much of a warming sun at all, but it was just enough to spotlight the iridescent snail trails on many homeowners’ sidewalks and driveways. Along the way I saw two or three of those dark-colored “pocket hoses” stretched across the sidewalk, and, at first glance, they look suspiciously like a long snake had slithered on by and shed its skin in the middle of the sidewalk. Ugh! I wondered to myself why anyone along the street felt compelled to water their property anyway, since Mother Nature has certainly done her share of providing free water most of this Summer. Suddenly, a few ominous-looking clouds passed overhead and I was still about a mile from home, so I picked up the pace considerably and started making tracks so I wouldn’t get stranded in the rain. My trip to the railroad tracks racked up another four miles toward the ultimate goal of 500, with just a mere five months left now to get ‘er done.

Well, how often can you say you took a brisk walk on a crisp morning in the tail end of July? I put the furnace on before I went to bed last night, but I nudged the thermostat up this morning – not just for Buddy this time, but for me as well. I heard the furnace revving up and chugging along as I was eating my warm oatmeal and having a steaming cup of coffee. The weatherman said it was 50 degrees and I toyed with the idea of going downstairs into the cedar closet to dig out some warm mitts and a muffler for my walk. This Summer, the weather has been so erratic that I’ve needed to have two different walking wardrobes at the ready all season long: shorts and a tee-shirt or a long-sleeved shirt and pants plus a jacket. I’ve relied on the latter combo the most.

It was very quiet as I traversed the streets to head to the Park – once again the hum of the air conditioners was absent and everyone’s windows were open letting the refreshing air in. Well, whomever is in charge of this great weather – God or Mother Nature – you got a handle on this!

Enroute to Council Point Park this morning I saw this large bunny. I see him quite often at this particular spot, since the homeowner has a beautiful lawn which he mows so that the grass blades are about four inches high. It is paradise for this bunny who is often seen nibbling contentedly on the tall grass. He is really huge, and I suspect that the tender blades of grass are not the only food that is sustaining him, and he is probably raiding the neighbors’ veggie gardens. As I approached him, he paused momentarily from munching his breakfast, eyes wide as saucers and tall ears a pretty, translucent pink in the morning sun. He didn’t bolt, like he often does, and instead just stared at me as if to say “what’s your hurry girlie?” He looked calm and complacent, so I seized the opportunity to take his picture. That task done, he still didn’t bolt and so I hesitated for a minute longer as I resisted the urge to scoop him up and take him with me. Perhaps that furry little bunny could warm my cold hands and be a walking buddy for me until I turned him loose to join his bunny brethren in the Park. Well … maybe next time.