With the sun behind me, I sat by the riverbank across from Mill Meadows and watched the shadows lengthen. By the time I'd finished the tree was a silhouette and the far yellow willows had reddened. You can see my shadow cross the path bottom left. I was pleased that my presence, seated on my folding chair, made people grin. A couple of women talking some Eastern European language smiled at me approvingly - the old man painting by the river's edge. Dogs were curious. Scooters zoomed by impervious, their lights bright in the gloaming. What struck me was how the willows glowed in the sun, the snapped trunks of storm-felled trees cut odd angles in the landscape, the river swirled past and around the island opposite where a lone tree grew. Last season's creepers dripped red. |