Cold. Thank you God, I love the cold.
Political signs on windows facing the large cemetery I pass and briefly walk through. Seems somewhat pointless as the occupants are a. dead and b. a lot of serious industrialists are buried there, living in their little houses, hard at work and uninterested in 21st century signs. And if they did see them, they’d call out the Pinkerton’s.
These houses often have exquisite stained glass windows depicting river scenes.
I noted a skim of ice on an ornamental pond and more interestingly a recently cut down oak, very old from the looks of it. No ducks. I was disappointed to see no airstream trails above. Usually I see many, which intersect and are very beautiful in the sun.
On the main road, Forbes, a couple of guys honked at me, which seems a Pittsburgh kind of thing. I never know who they are, and I always find it a good mystery with which to start the day.
This is a 4 mile walk and in the last third I walk through Frick Park which I am just beginning to explore. One sees plenty of dogs. Thrillingly I saw a springer spaniel puppy maybe 6 months old who was sprinting around like a demon.
The man and the dog went down one of paths that I can see from above. I am determined to follow this long path soon. It goes under Forbes Avenue.
There is a certain dreamlike quality to this landscape. it is much more temperate than Maine, much more overgrown, less sere. It often seems to entail plant life overcoming ruins, which was something I also noticed in Providence. Growing over the remains of eras, generations, lost powers and principalities.
Fittingly the landscape also reminds me of all the Maine boys who died at Gettysburg and elsewhere in this part of the country. They are buried in small Maine cemeteries such as Oak Grove in Gardiner. I think of how unbearably hot it must have been for them here in Pennsylvania.
Because of the overgrowth and a febrile quality this landscape seems rather dreamlike. It contains unexpected sights, such deer in the cemetery or adjoining park. Does and fawns spring ahead of you 10 feet away. When I lived in Maine, the snow in the back of the house was beaten down with deer trails. They came at night and I never saw them. Here I have looked down at deer from Forbes Ave. in the middle of rush hour.
I have also seen hawks sitting on high tree branches. Looking down at them; this is the disconcerting part.
There is a project I would like to do, which is go to a different neighborhood each weekend and just walk and later write about the place. I would resist the temptation to take photos and not see, although I might take pictures of the intriguing and stately monuments around the city. Which all have a story, like those of the long- forgotten tombs and the people whizzing by them on the way to work.