The crunch of gravel underfoot; incline. Sun coming in low and glaring off every harbor-facing pane of the buildings on the other side of the park. Cold. Empty playground today, and no leaves remain on the trees. I can see the harbor through the naked branches and the shining points of the city beyond neighboring rooftops out the kitchen windows.
A pigeon jaunts his way across the payment.
I saw the park pristine in late morning; no boots had trod to mar the blank white field. It’s nearly the solstice, then the days will edge toward longer ones again. I’ve put the bike up for the season.