There were so many visitors to the park today. More than I have experienced in a long time. I believe this has caused most of the wildlife, even though they are accustomed to human presence, to find places to hide. There were stretches where I didn't cross paths with anyone that ended up being enjoyable.

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The plant life that was present covered the range of what is typically seen in late summer and early fall. Most was dark green or bright yellows. There was a buzz of insects, seen and unseen. Many birds were seen, some I could identify and some I could not.

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With the help of Belenos, I was made aware of more insects than normal. The brightly colored butterflies one sees in spring and summer have been replaced with modestly clothed moths. There is a hum of bees working hard to accumulate the last of the season's nutrients to help them survive the winter. The goldenrod and thistle were inundated with them.

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The osage tree tunnel, one of my favorite places in the park, smelled of deep. decomposing, garden smells.  The branches, prized for their ability to grow close and thick, arched over creating an enchanting path of shadows and light.

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My other favorite spot is the giant oak trees called "The Three Sisters." Borings taken in the 1960s indicated the largest of the three trees is almost 600 years old. The middle sister was struck by lightning in 2008 and now ​lays with a hollow trunk, the growth a spiral you can trace throughout the entire length of what is left.

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While the amount of visitors to the park, the lack of respect some of them had for the space (leaving trash or disrupting what currently exists), and the constant undercurrent of urban noises, I always get a feeling of peace visiting my favorite trees, rocks, and other spots. As winter approaches, I know that my solitude in this area will return.