In the bounds of Forest Parké,
by the splashing Flower-Fountain,
Stood Edward, the old photo man,
Pointing with his camera eastward,
O'er the water pointing eastward,
To the little ducks a’ swimming.
Yep. There they were, swimming as fast as their little legs could go to get away from yours-truly. I know when I’m not wanted! I left the unfriendly mallard family and journeyed across the Columbus bridge toward the central fields. That was when I saw the balloons on the Central Fields and started that way.
There are many birds on the central fields this morning; mostly robins, picking away in the grass, finding delicious things, one presumes. But there are also swallows swooping, soaring, and racing each other. A gang of starlings stand off by the corner as if waiting for somebird to mug. A pair of robins, apparently engaged in mortal combat, fly in a zigzag pattern toward me and, at the last moment, make a slight swerve to avoid me as they rush past chirping angrily at each other.
By the time I get to the balloons they were, unfortunately, being taken down. But I did manage to get a few photos and had a great conversation with Joe Nepute, owner of the Jambo balloon.
On the north side of the central fields (which Siri keeps calling “feels”, which, I suppose, means she is a millennial) lies the hidden Creek savanna. I tell Siri that I’m standing next to a field of bee balm and she transcribes it as “B bomb”. OK Siri, you are going to start a scare, it’s BALM, balm, not bomb!