Trickling water, scrub oaks and rock. Where light enters the ring of trees. Settles on the rock where I sit. Circle of stones. Blackberry bush. (3 boys passing a smoke at the top of the path.) Underneath shade. Contemplation. A low flying plane. Bird cracking. Butterfly. Native garden The grinding sound of a saw or jackhammer. The whirling sound of a motorbike passing. (Children’s laughter echoing from behind.) Here the tree leans from one edge of the creek and crosses over to the other side, pale green leaves hang down over the large rock––a flat space for sitting, square ledge for leaning back. Tuft of grass. Dangling branches falling through. A Blue Jay sits at the top of the tree. Nest, brown and wet looking. One singular branch, brief hammering noise, extending arms into the ground. Where a long metal tube or shaft crosses the stream. Vines, ivy, oak and dirt, the sun slowly lowering, light moving to the right.
II
On this side of the creek a path leads up to an area with even more trees. There is a road. It seems quiet there. I wonder if that is where the creek begins. Blue sky. Thin scrubby oak. Singular. There is a telephone poll up near the road. I hear a car drive past. Faint sound of people talking. Here it is an oasis and yet strangely close to all the city noises. Blue sky turning with hazy late afternoon clouds, flies buzzing about. One leaf falling to my left. A white cat with a square shaped gray patch on its back walks down the trail opposite where I am sitting. It begins to cross the iron tube that stretches across the creek, stops then walks back. It scratches its chest, then runs back up the trail. Vague remnants of a porch on the other side of the hill. Dog barking. Light hitting the tips of red leaves.
II
On this side of the creek a path leads up to an area with even more trees. There is a road. It seems quiet there. I wonder if that is where the creek begins. Blue sky. Thin scrubby oak. Singular. There is a telephone poll up near the road. I hear a car drive past. Faint sound of people talking. Here it is an oasis and yet strangely close to all the city noises. Blue sky turning with hazy late afternoon clouds, flies buzzing about. One leaf falling to my left. A white cat with a square shaped gray patch on its back walks down the trail opposite where I am sitting. It begins to cross the iron tube that stretches across the creek, stops then walks back. It scratches its chest, then runs back up the trail. Vague remnants of a porch on the other side of the hill. Dog barking. Light hitting the tips of red leaves.
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