It was my first day back on the bike trail. The river was swollen with yesterday's torrential rains and I passed through several clouds of dragonflies. Workers on the banks were shaving the long grass, and a group of kids played softball near a middle-aged gentlemen playing traditional songs on a trumpet. I found my usual space on the river bank facing the water, and as I practiced a group of young men playing American football started playing behind me. One of them, sporting an arm cast, came next to me to survey the rushing water as I threw punches towards the unkempt grass across the way. He eventually carried on his way with his friends, his silent presence later augmented in the greeting of a familiar face who often walks his dog along the path. And with him today was another friend of his with his own canine companion. And we bowed to one another and smiled fully in recognition. It's been awhile.
The wind was blowing, the skies were a magical mix of blue and patchy clouds, and the sound of the crows' cawing punctuated the rustling leaves.
A year ago, a year ago, I had not found this place.