A walk to Cates Park: predictions of nostalgia

It’s June, though so far it doesn’t feel like it as the weather gods think it is still spring. But there are surprising compensations. Yesterday evening, I was dragged from the comfort of couch and book by my reproachful daughter who wanted to take the dog for a walk. Resentfully, I got ready. Grumbling, I fussed with a few unnecessary chores. Eventually, we left.

The Cove and the stretch of residential area between it and Cates Park can be remarkably quiet on a mid-week evening. We walked through wooded trails and through hushed streets. We saw few people. The air was full of the cold freshness of spring. The sky was a patchwork of dark clouds and dazzling brightness, set off by the darkening grey-blue silhouetted mountains. The glory of the spring flowers is almost over, so the rhododendron bushes were heavy with browning blooms. The air was pungent with the scent of mock orange.

Some moments like these are poignant because I know they are fleeting and I imagine looking back on them in later years. I want to hold onto it: the feel of the evening, the expectancy in the air, the youthful beauty of my daughter’s profile, the energy of the little dog.

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