Of the cities where I’ve lived, Eureka is probably my favorite to walk. The streets soon wind up mountains; the trees are also part of the feeling. The roads would quickly overgrow–I think it’s burdock I’ve seen with its leaves overlapping the asphalt. …”black from dust but still alive and red in the center… It makes me want to write”–what Tolstoy says about the plant. Did Tolstoy love categorically everything uncultivated?
Yesterday I walked in the afternoon and found a narrow path between a high wall and ravine; it ended in a small clearing surrounded by trees. Through the trees I could see an empty field; the shouts of kids playing a game were coming from it.
Later while we were walking to a movie, a pickup truck passed with BAD DREAM painted on a door. Something that sounded like a cougar snarled at us from the darkness while we were walking home. We could not see it, but it sounded so close by, I thought I must have stepped on a tender patch of road.