Spurred by the morning Homer, when I got to the park I continued walking on the path. Path, I think. There was a paved water feature that stretched about two blocks with a small waterwheel and a miniature wooden ship about the size of a dolphin. This took me to a bridge that runs past a building with rainbows in the windows, which I think is an aquarium. And I found the river I had not even known was there. An island full of cranes. Whoops and croaks. Geese that approached cautiously, possibly expecting to be fed. After sitting a while in silence, I thought of a song I wanted to hear and put the iPod on. Then I found a path than ran up along the bank to the flood runoff. Little black birds. Purple flowers (re: Spencer's purple flowers). Clouds beginning to gather distantly, but even their promise of later turmoil was undaunting. The present was a mere gathering, as of friends making plans together, not for the ultimate decision, but for the mere joy of each other's lazy company. I felt a momentary pang of guilt for not having discovered this place earlier, but realized that I had not been ready to find it. The external realization of quiet spaces is an internal reflection. All directions are golden.
it was another bright day, and the waters called me away from home again and again
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