There was a crowd of geese here the week before along with pigeons and turtles all fighting over chunks of bread tossed by a wiry old lady who loves to see her animals fed. Now the rocky ledge that slopes down to the lake has only a few pigeons standing on it, at rest among their droppings.
Oddments found at the back of a nightstand, behind the drawers: a baby photo and a budget written up in Hebrew.
During the third movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto they get up and dance on the baseball diamond.
Twilight picnics among evergreen trees.
High up from the ground, three raccoons poke their heads out of a hole in a tree like cuckoo clock figurines.
Competing at archery without a bow and arrow, and bowling without a ball.
I've been through this place a number of times but I keep finding new paths. This one overlooks a stream bed where a thread of dark water unspools over tumbling rocks.