Shoal Creek

The park at next to Lamar sits in a valley between two steep hills. It's surrounded by the noise of the city, but the trees muffle that into a distant sound. It's a cold, cloudy day, and I sit down to read, feeling a little weird for sitting outside reading in the park, but mostly feeling cold and a little depressed by the weather.

The stories are interesting, although I find the cities a little oversimplified to make whatever point each story's getting at. What I find more interesting, though, is trying to figure out if these fictitious cities are based on real ones, and if so, which.

When I'm finished, I look around, trying to find some way to express the park. It's really a pretty simple place. There's a frisbee golf course with people playing their way through individually or in small groups, and there's a jogging path that a few truly dedicated people are using despite the weather. I'm sitting at a picnic table to read, but I can't imagine it's often used. This isn't much of a picnic spot.

The creek next to me, Shoal Creek according to a sign next to the jogging path, is not the nicest I've ever seen, but most of the park is that way. Dirt paths are overgrown with weeds, asphalt is cracked, and the concrete tables are worn. Oddly, the sense of neglect doesn't bother me. This place was originally built by human hands, but with the passage of time nature has stepped in to place it's own mark on it. Much like humans have so often taken nature and made it our own, here nature has taken the man-made for itself.

It's an oddly reassuring thought. We think of ourselves having complete control, and what of what we do as eternal. It's not. And with that deep philosophical thought, I figure I've got enough to write about. I'm cold, and it's time to head back to my apartment, which nature has not yet reclaimed and which has central heating.