Orange ball

   I took the photograph at the bottom of the page a couple of days ago during a walk in Golden Gate Park and was drawn to what appears to be a dog toys' beautiful and vivid colors. I had seen it the day before, but did not photograph it until the next day. The weather had been unusual those days here in San Francisco, being both cool and clear (cool usually means foggy), reminding me of the fall season that I experienced every year growing up on the east coast. When I think about it, I recall with warmth the feel of those cool days, sandwiched as they were between the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter, and in particular I miss the spectrum of colors that the leaves would turn before falling from the trees and crisply crunching as I walked over them.
   There is no fall season here in San Francisco to speak of, so when the weather cools a bit or a strong wind has blown, I relish in walking on the leaves, even though the color variations are minimal and the crunching under my feet barely discernible. Many of the trees here do not become bare at any time of the year due to the mild climate, but the ones that do look vulnerable, appearing more sensitive and in tune with their environment.
   So as I think more about the ball in the picture below and why it's colors resonate for me, I am reminded that I usually am not a big fan of the orange-blue color combination, as it reminds me of the old Shea Stadium in New York, which I would pass by car occasionally over my years spent in New York, and whose exterior (featuring the colors below) was perhaps the ugliest architectural exterior I have ever seen in person. Despite the Shea Stadium association, or perhaps triumphantly overcoming and replacing it, this special ball has helped to remind me of some beautiful memories of my hometown, and the season that I must do without because of the mostly even, though lovely weather in my not so new home.

The original Shea Stadium exterior

The new and improved orange-blue association

Nest

   The nest below has been perched in this tree for the last six months or so. I remember seeing it being built by what seemed like multiple red-tailed hawks (it was definitely at least one), and when it was being constructed, the builder or builders seemed quite hurried and determined in their construction, yet I have yet to see any activity in it since that time, nor have I ever seen any chicks near it.
   Every day, when I walk the loop where the nest is, I pass it three times, and although I no longer expect to see any activity there, I often marvel at it's beauty, and sometimes think about it's apparently vacant status. It is so beautiful how this loose material has been put together in such a way that it has remained relatively unchanged since the time it was made, and although the lack of rain has, I imagine, contributed to its' longevity, I am still excited by how long it has lasted. It seems to me to be a reminder of the possibilities for beauty and creativity in the world that I live in, and I certainly need that reminder.