Morning at Fernhill Park

It’s cloudy with that wintry half-light that means rain is coming. Warm gusts of wind from the west bring a faint, briny ocean smell and I take deep breaths. We don’t smell that very often around here. Branches toss, and orange and yellow leaves fill the air and spin end over end before they come to rest on grass, roofs, and pavement. In the distance, someone drives a huge mower the size of a small truck, with enormous cutting wheels that swing independently in all directions, getting one last mowing done before the storm. It swings closer and exhaust mixes with the salty wind.

Kieran streaks across the sloping lawns,  pushing faster and faster for the sheer joy of running. Just in time, he runs himself out and comes back to flop down at my feet. I clip on his leash and we go back to the car. As we pull into the street, big raindrops splash on the windshield.


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