Austin, Texas
18 March 2011














I walked through Northwest Park this morning on my way home. I sat awhile in the bleachers above the baseball diamond. It was warm out, but there was a pleasant breeze. Another woman was sitting in the bleachers on the other side of home base. There was a man wearing a baseball cap walking his dogs in an adjacent field enclosed by a fine stone wall. Another man was entering the field from the parking lot, bringing in equipment as for a game or team practice.

Each of the areas we were in was separated by fencing or other structures. We were so near, sharing the same moment in the same ballpark. We could see each other, each alone in our own sections, but somewhat blocked without easy access from one location to the next.

I left the ball field and walked through the rest of the park and through the neighborhood. The park was covered with mounds of clover and other lush green growth. I'd never seen anything like it, especially in Austin and especially so soon after the dry inferno last summer when the ground was matted with dead grass, and many trees were leafless, shriveled carcasses. I was grateful today for the sounds of mockingbirds, and the smells of spring, of seasonal rebirth. I no longer take these pleasures for granted.

This morning was like a dream. It was sorta like Narnia if Lucie could have taken pictures and brought them back through the wardrobe (or, in this instance, to the other parts of the ball park).