My street end park

When my babies were babies we would wobble down to the end of our street to this little park. It didn't look like this then. It wasn't landscaped then. You could climb down the rock bulkhead and walk on a short beach, picking up stones and tossing them back into the lake. You could look through the green water and watch tiny fish swim through the seaweed bits that swayed with the waves. We spent hours there in the sunshine, in the mist and drizzle, in the snow. We'd pack in books and raisins, apples and blankets as though we were a scouting party for Admiral Byrd, though we were traveling approximately 150 yards. Cell phones weren't part of our landscape then either so it was just us. The girls would chase each other endlessly ending up on the ground, sitting back to back, arms linked, trying to stand up. They never were able to manage it, their heights were quite disparate and their laughter left them helpless. There used to be a rusty, pock marked, low steel mushroom shaped thing that begged for a Cheshire cat or a caterpillar with a hookah. We stood on that with our bare feet hugging the warm surface or using it as a platform for our snowmen. I miss that mushroom thing.

But I am so blessed to have had it--and those remarkably unhurried days.
I wish everyone lots of mushroom time :)