Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Realizing that I lacked a photo for today's post I went for a walk to the neighbourhood park where I once played baseball as a kid. The diamonds are long gone with soccer all the rage but the park still hosts hundreds of children and their families every summer evening.
Out in right field I spent a lot of time pulling up dandelions. The loathed weed holds magical powers in my mind. Each feathered seed represents a dream that floats on the wind.
The park has always been a home for gulls, especially when a storm blows across the bay. The wonder of a feather: so delicate and yet so strong.
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