A Week in Review

Hello!
I don't have much to review today. I've just been settling back into my old routine, wondering who this "balloon boy" is, and then deciding that I just don't care. A person misses stuff while on vacation. Some of it isn't worth getting caught up on. It is nice, though, to settle back into life as usual.

Because of a lack of anything to talk about, I thought that I'd share some pictures of one of my favorite places, so here is...

Where I go Walking
A few times a week I use my lunch hour to take a walk. Most of you locals know Memory Grove and City Creek Canyon, but for those who don't I will try to describe it. There's a street northeast of the COB that leads up into a lovely residential area with quaint, old homes, and then into Memory Grove, which is a park with monuments dedicated to war vetrans. After the park, the path winds up into a small canyon called City Creek, aptly named for the creek that runs down from the mountains into the city. The early settlers used this water to irrigate their crops, and from what I understand the water used to run underneath Temple Square and powered the first pipe organ in the tabernacle. Now most of the lands around the creek are parks, all very pretty, and all lovely to walk through in the fall.

This is the deck on one of those old homes.

A monument in Memory Grove

The creek

And the path that leads up the canyon

Sometimes you meet up with the local riff-raff on the trail.

Actually, I work with those guys, and they're pretty nice.

More of the creek

Look how the vine wraps it's way up that great tree. I stare at it every time I walk by.

The reds are pretty

Here's Memory Grove Park again.

This little park is across the street from the COB, and the water comes from the same creek. When the girls were little we came here often.

The poem on the Writers' Almanac today was about water and trees, so I'll end with it:

Gravity

by Louis Jenkins
It turns out that the drain pipe from the sink is attached to nothing and water just runs right onto the ground in the crawl space underneath the house and then trickles out into the stream that passes through the backyard. It turns out that the house is not really attached to the ground but sits atop a few loose concrete blocks all held in place by gravity, which, as I understand it, means "seriousness." Well, this is serious enough. If you look into it further you will discover that the water is not attached to anything either and that perhaps the rocks and the trees are not all that firmly in place. The world is a stage. But don't try to move anything. You might hurt yourself, besides that's a job for the stagehands and union rules are strict. You are merely a player about to deliver a soliloquy on the septic system to a couple dozen popple trees and a patch of pale blue sky.
"Gravity" by Louis Jenkins from Before You Know It: Prose Poems 1970–2005. ©

I do talk, sometimes, to the trees as I walk by. Not out loud, just in my head, while sorting through the events of the day, or the week, or the whole life. The trees listen well; they seldom interrupt me, and I always feel good afterward. Walks are good for the soul.

Thanks, as always, for your kind regard.
You are loved.