Standing next to the Dwight Davis tennis Center the scent of fresh cut grass is heavy in the air. It’s a good smell, and a light breeze is cooling me, the birds are absolutely ecstatic about the end of the day and a few people are on the tennis courts bopping balls back-and-forth in a not very definitive fashion.
All of the lights on the tennis courts are on, and they are bright indeed. There is a lot of light, but with so few people there, nothing much to see.
Over by the boathouse, I am engulfed (“in golfed” according to Siri, who is once more transcribing my notes for me) by the rich smell of wood smoke. By the Government Drive bridge next to the boathouse, a raccoon sits on top of some trash cans as I approach. My intense stare and perhaps my tripod alarm him a bit, so he crawls down into a storm sewer where I can’t get him. I think about going home.