Shadows, groups and gait

   There are very few people around Stow Lake, walking or doing anything, when I am there in the early morning hours. It is almost completely dark, and most of the people that are there use flashlights to. I'm guessing they use them to both see and be seen by others.

   I recently noticed as I passed a few of these individuals that they seemed to have a more difficult time recognizing me than I did them, and although I know that this is partly due to their lights (light makes it harder for me to adjust my eyes to the darkness), I think that there were other things taking place, too.
   It got me thinking about the idea of recognition.

   I began to realize how much the ways people are grouped, their gaits, and how they held or swung their flashlights in movement helped me to determine who they were from far away, in almost complete darkness. And while it's true that there are not that many people walking at the lake in that early hour, there are enough that each one's identity is not a given. 

   Thinking about the things mentioned above and how they have helped me to make determinations. I wonder about some of the many other conclusions that I have come to, and why..
   It has started to become apparent to me that many of my ideas, and the reasons behind them, might not be as deductive as the ways I am able to determine people at Stow Lake.
   If I assess people and situations based mainly on experiences from long ago, often wounds, then my contemporary observations and perceptions are probably not as clear as the people I see on these dark mornings.

Memories of the harassers

   I pass by the below shrub, bush, or whatever it is, at least three times a day during my daily walks around Stow Lake. Besides seeing it with my eyes and using my brain to disseminate that information, I hadn't given too much conscious thought about it  now.
   Located on the colder and windier side of the lake where I walk (an area I have written about in other blog posts), it wasn't until recently that I saw activity there that reminded me of some wonderful things that had happened there some time ago.
   It was then that I would regularly see a flurry of activity made by perhaps eight to ten small blackbirds, who would swoop down and attack the tops of people's heads, including mine, as we walked by this greenery.
   At first, I found these attacks a bit shocking (as you can imagine it might be if suddenly something surprisingly pecked you on the top of your head!), but then grew to  appreciate the way these animals protected what I imagine must have been their chicks hidden there. These birds didn't seem to claim a lot of space as their own, but the bit that they did seemed vital to them. I found this thought beautiful, though I don't understand exactly why.
   I am thinking about all of this now because these birds haven't yet returned to this area, and perhaps never will. Because of this absence, I am remembering these events with some melancholy.
   It's perhaps not difficult to see clearly that I have to sometimes be reminded of things that I find sad.

Where are my friends?