The barking tree

   The other morning, I heard what I thought were dogs barking loudly and aggressively as I took my morning stroll. The noises didn't seem to be too close to my location so were hard to make out, appearing to come from Strawberry Hill, a small island located in the middle of the lake I was walking around.
   As the sounds continued, I changed my assessment, wondering instead if the sounds may actually be from coyotes, which I've seen in the area, Thinking again, I felt like they may in fact be human sounds.
   I've seen people during my walks, usually young, coming from the hill, where they sometimes camp at night. I thought that maybe there was an argument up there, but then surmised that the ruckus didn't quite fit those sounds either.
   The commotion stopped, and so did my thinking about them as I continued on.
   Perhaps ten minutes later, I came upon a tree laying across the water on the south side of the lake, and considered the force of the heavy rains and wind that must have brought it down. I stopped for a moment to look at it, then continued my walk, until perhaps five minutes later, when it dawned on me that I hadn't seen this when I passed the area before. I then remembered the noises of a few minutes earlier, and was awestruck by the thought that this tree had made those sounds. I'm pretty sure that it had.
   Living my life moment by moment but saddled by my own history and presuppositions, I am often certain that I know about the people and things that I encounter. These ideas of mine are often quite rigid; I believe that they are so in order to protect me from what I perceive to be a chaotic and frightening world. They shield me, but from surroundings that are as much ideas as the defenses that they guard against; they are not representations of the real world.
   The realities of my environment, especially when I was a child, were anxiety producing and terrifying, the future unknown and mysterious. As an adult, unfortunately, what is difficult to describe is one of the aspects of life that really make my life feel worthwhile.

Western Snowy Plovers

   I hadn't been out to the beach here in the western part of the city for a while when my friend Jim and I met nearby for a coffee, and took a walk there afterwards. Although slightly warmer than normal for this time of year, the beach was nearly empty (it was a Friday afternoon), save for me, Jim, one or two people jogging, a guy fishing, some Sandpipers, and lots of Western Snowy Plovers.
   I have always been very fond of these birds, primarily because of the way they move and forage, which they usually do in large groups. Although I do not consider myself much of a joiner when it comes to groups (or anything really), I do find watching these animals quite beautiful. I see nothing negative in their group mentality.
   While not all completely moving in unison, large portions of them do, and when the waves of the ocean subside, they quickly scamper to eat up what they fancy before the next waves comes in. These movements always make me smile, and remind me of the opening theme to The Monkees television show from the late sixties, which I loved watching as a child.

Although I've seen this occur perhaps hundreds of times, it always makes me feel better about the world and myself. It adds some brevity to my too often feeling of heaviness, and I find there is something about their seemingly frantic movements that I find comical, heroic and endearing.

Monkeying around

Moon

   There is a man named Moon that I see during my daily walks around Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park, a man with the biggest, most genuine smile that I can recall. As we walk in opposite directions, I pass him perhaps four to five times per day, and on just about every occasion his expression emits to me the look of a man at peace with himself. It makes me feel a bit jealous as I think about it now, but when I am seeing him it makes me smile, and feel that I am completely accepted in his eyes.
   Because my walks are daily, and don't feel as emotionally balanced as I imagine Moon to be, I sometimes feel less-than-ideal in this beautiful place, and can be quite self conscious when in this state. It is during these times that I have the sensation that Moon can actually see how I am experiencing the world. It's not that I see him as being intrusive or judgmental, only that he seems comfortable  enough in himself as to be able to see me fully. I imagine it to be much the same way as I can at times experience the beauty of the nature. It's probably very similar, but I find it more difficuly seeing people in this way.
   While the notion of being completely seen by another person makes me feel scared and naked, I also feel like Moon truly cares about me as a person. That's a good lesson to keep in mind.

Moon