Perfect Fall Evening

Last night, Clint and I set out for a walk after dinner and decided half way down the alley that we should check out the park across the street. We grabbed our glow in the dark frisbee and crossed the street to what I am now considering our giant back yard. There is a park runs at least four blocks long, and is about a block wide. It is almost all grass with only a few trees, and while we’re not sure it’s actually technically a park, it seems generally open to the public. It is bordered to the west by the bike path that runs alongside the river and on the east a row of stately Victorian houses. We threw the frisbee around for awhile, time mostly spent with Clint trying to chase down my wild throws until I got my technique perfected, or at least narrowed down enough that I wasn’t threatening the two boys off in the distance kicking a soccer ball around.

We both had things that we could have (and probably should have) been doing, but for that small window we were carefree- like kids who only had to be home by the time the streetlights came on.

We tired out (mostly Clint from trying to spare the boys, or spare me from embarrassment by catching it (What?! We’re trying to play Frisbee this way!)), and sat in the grass looking up at the clouds, the airplane smoke trails lit up by the sunset, and the storm clouds rolling in from the west. As we sat there I had the distinct feeling that this would become one of those quintessential fall days burned in my memory- where I could always remember the feeling, but never the context. I imagined that as the season wore on and turned into winter, I would be soon riding my bike through that park, looking out at the field covered in snow, and trying to remember what it was like when it was warm enough to run barefoot through the grass.