i guess we've lost the park to obombaland. it feels like a mourning vigil, meeting the birders, walking through the exposed bones of the island. we say goodbye til next week. we seek the beach, look over the water, breathe the water-born air. maybe we can save the lake.
i want to thank pat for listening, for her smooth wheels, for her good kind sense, for taking us there.
mister wants to thank pat for the punkin moon treats and the calm comfy ride to his favorite beach.