Lost in color is the best way to describe my early morning. 1000 birds, all of them singing, and two I had never seen before. Waiting for the sunrise and watching the clouds race over me, revealing blues, purples, and infinite variations between. Even my little car, a half-mile away, looked like it had been forged from the blue of a Caribbean Sea. 

I wandered down through a culvert that I probably should have left unattended. Once I reached the creek bottom, at least a dozen gray catbirds chirped a symphony for me. Going through the brush that didn’t want to be penetrated, I ran into Pine and Palm warblers. Yellow looked freakishly novel to me. 

Suddenly having crystal clear vision has been a knock in the head. I catch myself staring not only at my prisms with new eyes, but shadows and variations that have been lost to me. And yes, I can see the dirt and dust that inevitably accumulates. But who has time for that? You can dust and de-dust without pause, never reaching the end of it. But you can also go out and wander. 

Occasionally, there have been sirens wailing in the background, because where there are people, there is turmoil. Even if you do everything right, that same turmoil will frequent your life at random intervals. It shouldn’t push your eyes and ears away from enjoying the stupidly simple things all around you. 

But what do I know? I’m just a guy wandering around with soaked feet and a smile on my face.

As the sky darkened and the wind blew, I walked barefoot along the new connecting trail spur that runs north of Lakeside. 

It was once an oasis and almost unpassable. It’s a modern convenience. It still holds a sliver of the natural magic it once did, but I can’t appreciate it yet. 

The expanse of exotic cattails is fighting back. You can see it on the north side of the paved trail, a boggy mess. When I went through today, I smiled because a few dozen of these alien cattails are growing back fast, after being destroyed. 

I watched a giant of a skateboarder roll down the long hill, his lanky arms held horizontal to the ground as if he were flying.

I saw dozens of errant golf balls from the course surrounding the small lake. They look like perfect little eggs, scattered in the grass, rocks, and mud. 

As beautiful and relaxing as it was, I still hold a grudge that the unusable natural habitat has been traversed surgically with concrete.