St Louis region – Page 8

Signs

Some of the pictures are getting a little repetitive I guess. Sometimes it’s just because they’re so beautiful I can’t stop taking them day after day. I’ve been really surprised though, when I pick a new theme for each day, how many new sites and angles I find.

Today, I set out to find signs. I expected traffic signs, and I knew there were signs to mark the nature trail, but I wasn’t expecting this one!

It’s well over normal temperatures today. It’s not quite record breaking as far as I know, but definitely far from a day to worry about the snowplows.

It’s nice to be out in the sunshine. It’s fun to look at things in a new way, to find new angles on the beautiful spring color that incorporate my theme.

Alone together

In our narrowing world

The neighborhood waves and smiles and steps aside

Living in the hopes that this sign will someday soon be true again.

Color Walk

A neighborhood walk again, on a beautiful spring afternoon. Virus numbers have jumped again in the county. I spent the morning trying to get the grocery delivery app to work in between video chats with my students, recording tomorrow’s lesson and grading the work that sporadically drifts in.

My theme walk today is color. I expect a lot of purple, based on the pictures I’ve taken recently. There is of course, but so much more as well when I really look.

It’s as busy and cheerful as the bright yellow flowers in the late afternoon sunshine. There are several small groups of people walking. Mostly they’re in pairs, with a dog or two. Some are parents pushing strollers. Only a single school age child is out, riding a scooter, and moving carefully out of the way to let us pass at a distance.

I can’t imagine how the rest of them are staying occupied through the confusion of this time.

As we all are I guess, clinging to the gifts as they’re offered and stumbling into what becomes a normal day.

Bench Life

It’s official. The county parks are closed. I looked up the list on line. Several of my favorites were there, but I didn’t know as many of them as I expected. Which, of course, gives me a whole new list of places I wish I could go.

City parks are still open, at least for now.

Lightly dusted with strolling neighbors

Moving carefully aside

Hugging our refuge with six feet of space.

Anchored in place, I search for themes

For new ways of seeing these paths I’ve wandered for nearly twenty years

And so, today it’s benches …

There were fewer than I thought on the trail.

And so many more than I ever noticed in the park itself.

A welcoming hope of warmth and health,

A promise that children will shriek on the playgrounds again, families will feast at the picnic shelters, and summer concerts will drift on a warm evening breeze.

Hickory Woods

The world is closing in, even as it’s springing to life. Cheerful signs, encouraging everyone to enjoy the outdoors while keeping a careful distance, are still posted along the greenways.

I mostly see people following the guidelines, but horrifying clips on the evening news clearly show that not everyone is.

It’s quiet here, an easy walk from my house. The handful of other walkers offer smiles and greetings, while we all move politely to the edges of the path to allow the maximum distance to pass. Dogs, excitedly expecting to be greeted and pet, seem confused to be gently tugged aside, but enjoy their outings all the same.

Where will we all be tomorrow?

An announcement, announced –

To take place tomorrow.

The county parks will be closed.

What does that even mean? Will it be large over-used lakes and picnic grounds? Will it include the greenways and conservation areas and quiet neighborhood parks? Can we find a way to cling to the comfort and peace of the natural world, while respecting and protecting each other?

There’s a breathtaking faith in perennials

A gift in the effort,

Of a kiss of spring,

To generations unknown.

Fee Fee Greenway

I saw a meme today, something along the lines of …

If anybody’s trying to figure it out, it’s Tuesday

Tuesday!

Two days off of spring break

Two days of learning to teach online

Two days that felt like a week

By yesterday afternoon

For just one hour – no computer, no news, no terrifying numbers

Pooled reflections
Teem with life
Slipping into shadows unseen

Sunlight and clouds drift through a lazy waltz

Birds flit and sing and tease from the brush.

And graciously pause for my camera.

Hickory Woods

Close to home today, I walked down my neighborhood sidewalks, scattered with couples and wiggling dogs, and onto the little trail at the edge of the park.

The playgrounds and fields are empty in service to the caution we struggle to observe.

And yet … there are bears!

A weekend social media game I’d almost forgotten

Children … was it really for them?

Were challenged to find bears in windows and public spaces they could photograph and count.

Spring and hope march on …

In the midst of the new world we’re trying to understand.

Route 66 State Park

Sunshine, warm breezes, and fast running river; it almost feels like summer today.

The park is packed, but everyone is reasonable here.

Walkers and bikers exchange friendly waves from 6 feet away and step to the side to allow each other to safely pass.

Cross country connector trail morphs into a wetlands safari. It feels like immersion in old adventure film, as frogs murmur in constant vibrato from the marshy edges of the trail.

Tower Grove Park

These people are ridiculous. I get it, I really do. It’s the first truly spring like day of the year, with bright sunshine and soft warm breezes. I want to be out as much as anyone, and it’s a huge, beautiful city park, with plenty of room for social distancing.

They are not social distancing.

Some are of course, maybe even most,

but there are groups tossing footballs, couples holding hands, gatherings of picnickers on blankets and crowded into pavilions.

I’m all for a walk on this gorgeous day.

Managed right, it’s even well within safety guidelines.

Wander a quiet tree lined trail.

Bask in the scents of the blossoming flowers and trees.

Rest in the shade on a rustic bench and listen to the chorus of birds.

But please,

for the sake of yourself,

and us all …

Keep a six foot distance.

Truman Park

It’s warmer today, and brighter. My winter coat flaps open and feels intermittently like a mistake, until a sudden cool gust makes me glad to have it.

Birds call, dogs bark, voices drift lightly above the background drone of midday traffic. The sky is a patchwork of blue with occasional brushes of sunshine.

Fifteen minutes they said. I’m somewhat skeptical. I tried this before in January. This trail is supposed to connect to Saint Stanislaus, I never found it when I looked before, but it was later in the day, and the sun was setting early, so my chances seemed better today.

Follow the red blazes and 15 minutes of steady hiking should get me to the paved connecting trail. I mentally adjusted that to at least 20, since there’s nothing steady about my endless discovery of a new photo op.

It’s actually there! One startled toddler, running ahead of his parents, and several somewhat scary sets of muddy railroad tie steps, and I emerge from the woods and onto the trail.

Swampy low lands and the half flooded trail hum with the drone of frogs and the clatter of the woodpeckers dinner bell.

The sunshine is steady and warm by the time I walk back, and the coat is now tied around my waist.

The park is filling with walkers and bird watchers and a teenager kicking a ball around.

Mostly still distant, we smile and nod and move on in our quiet worlds.

McDonnell Park

It’s thickly overcast and wintry cold on Covid lock-down day 2. The park seems oddly populated. Several cars, carefully spaced, dot the various loops. Scattered walkers and occasional joggers wander the trails. We mostly keep our distance and choose different paths.

Birds are everywhere. They call from the trees and peck at the ground. Camouflaged against soggy cast-off leaves of fall, I can’t even see them, until they suddenly flutter in mass irritation to the nearest trees as I pass.

A sudden drizzly rain dots a puddled hollow.

While springs glows fearless in all it’s defiant glory