Detail Journal (October 4)

5:15 pm (ish) Sunday, October 4, 2009

A golden glow is sweeping across the park.  It was overcast the first half of the day today, left over from yesterday’s rain.  Although it is clear now, there still seems to be water lingering in the air, reflecting the warm afternoon light through the atmosphere and catching on the moist blades of grass sticking up from the ground.  There are three dogs and their three owners.  There were two other dogs who just left with their owners.  The fuzzy little brown dog found a stick and brought it to me.  He sits down on the cool grass next to me, wagging his tail.  There are four mounds that make up a half moon fortification, which the dogs seem to love running up and over.  There are three canons stuck into the hills, pointing out towards the Charles.  They read as follows: No 36, 30-0-17; No 40, 30-0-16; No 45, 30-0-13.

Elga, the happy white dog with a brown patch on her right eye, is tired.  She is sitting beneath the long, cool shade of the trees.  The sun is falling beneath the trees, sending long shadows across the grass.  Elga and her owner leave.

Two women and their two dogs appear: the golden retriever runs off to play with the scruffy brown dog.  The older brown and white dog sniffs around curiously.

The atmosphere is clear and crisp.  Even though it rained all day yesterday, the ground is firm and dry.

The park is in a strange location.  It seems like you are in a secret location that nobody knows about… except for the fact that everyone knows about it.  It is cut off on one side by the Grand Junction Railroad, by a road on the other.  The other two edges are empty lots.  One is a construction site right now.  Lonely and dusty.  On the weekend all the workmen are at home.  The site is eerie.  A bird calls from one of the trees off into the distance.  A plane passes by overhead.  A stream of four cars drive by.  A biker.  A girl carrying groceries to her dorm.

The dogs stand in the last patch of golden warm sun with their owners.

At this time the park seems quiet and reflective.  In the harsh light of the daytime, the hills become flat and the fence disappears.  With the low light of sunset, the canon fence shows its curves, and the granite sparkles.  The canons absorb the light, heavy and black, showing their weight.

“Tomys coming, Tommy’s coming,” a woman tells her dog.  A beautiful white retriever and a thick coated golden retriever run across the park.  The energetic white dog seems to be the favored Tommy.

You can hear people approaching from behind you, behind the trees… the crunching of gravel under foot, bicycle tire and baby carriage.

A dark haired mutt comes to play.  Pokey lives on Pearl Street.

Two more dogs arrive.  A big black Newfoundland, Zander, is playing with a gigantic blue ball.  A black and white spotty dog and arrives and sniffs around.  They gather around the large flagpole in the middle of the park, boasting an American Flag high above the trees, waving in the last of the late afternoon’s rays.  It is getting chilly and the bugs are coming out.  I head out, even though I don’t want to leave.  It is six o’clock.

dogs

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