hot miserable birds

Oliver Fern and his mother dropped me off in the late afternoon on their way to go birding at Union Bay.  It was hot, really doggone hot. Adam was smart and stayed home in the dark, relatively cooler confines of the house doing his complicated science fiction RPG stuff. When we got home there were was a humongous ice cream bowl on the kitchen counter, the lad possesses shockingly little clue about covering his tracks.

My objective was simply some exercise and fresh air. Hot, fresh air. I walked nearly five miles in a crude loop around Ravenna, Green Lake, up to Phinney Ridge. It was too blazing hot for the over-the-ear headphones I use otherwise I would’ve listened to a podcast or music so I contented myself with people-watching or taking notes on various gardens. I’ve never seen more giant, virtually single-use polyvinyl inflatable rafts in Green Lake, most of them the property of preening, much-maligned millennial malingerers who do things like bring their dumbbells to the park for group workouts or unfold their laptops right there in the grass. I took a picture of a nearly-mint condition Subaru Brat for Oliver, I couldn’t tell if it was the factory paint job. I finally stopped in the south part of Woodland Park because my poor feet could take no more, it felt like I was walking in old-time hobnail boots.

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