Just when I thought suburbia was all planned subdivisions and paved parking lots, I stumbled upon a little piece of paradise this afternoon while on my run. Beyond the beaten trail, a grove of trees which opens up to a babbling creek. Branches reaching down to the coolness of the crisp, clear water that glides over the smooth stones at the creek bed. The tree bark scarred with declarations of love from young lovers, each of whom have made this small parcel of perfection their own, if even for just a few minutes.
And just yesterday I was lamenting the fact that there were no interesting places to go for a run here in the heart of suburbia. I take it back.
Now, if only those fiends at Kodak would get on with it and finish repairing my camera so that I can capture paradise on film before all the leaves fall and the air turns cold and nippy.
It Don't Matter :: Donovan Frankenreiter
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