Crisscrossing the hills of Greenbrae again, on foot. Noticing a few leaves turning pale with a blush at the edges. My peregrinations take me down to the creek, again. The afternoon is heating up, as if in rehearsal for the streak of heat in the forecast for the next few days. The usual suspects on the path along the creek. The same happy dogs and their humans; the old woman in the wheelchair, cheerily greeting me, again and again; the strollers and the kids on tricycles; the cyclists whizzing by; the lovers lingering… But here and there, it being the weekend, a few new faces. The man on the bench reading a stack of religious books, looking up from the pages, but not really catching anything in particular with his gaze. The ducks with their heads tucked inside their wings by the pond, oblivious to the man and his books and all others who walk by. And the crows, relentless in their vocalizing, rending the air. All of us together there, in the same space, but I doubt very much, if in the same world.