A park, a perfect distance away. It’s just far enough to make it a little more difficult than easy to just randomly decide to go; and when there, all of the little surprises you find feel more worthwhile. I meandered up, down, and around to the area I usually stay - the only area I found that was completely out of view from each trail that is always meandering around. I climbed the hill and passed the tree that looked like a sad attempt at a Robinson Crusoe stage production, with wooden board as makeshift ladders and branches of leaves as intentionally uncomfortable cots.

The tree fort wasn’t abandoned this evening. A transient sauntered over and began stumbling up the wavering steps.

I moved on.

I came to be alone. I found that slope that you could nap on without a pillow, but there were two sets of feet, with attached legs covered by boxes and bags. A topless woman, with folding flesh that looks like it had been sunburned each day for the past three months of Summer that we had had.

I moved on.

Taking a quick gaze around, I found a shaded area and fallen leaves and sticks lining the surface. A bit too sharp of a slope, but fine for sitting and pondering. Sitting there, I found a tree that is still my favorite, with gnarls of years and carvings from punks. I looked down and saw wood, cloth, and rope. A transient enclave? An abandoned forest wedding? Moonshine was in the air, or at least the branches were whispering of the memories of it. Arches that twisted organically, cloth from the Kansas countryside one hundred and thirty three years ago.

I listened to the squirrels on the forest floor behind me. I heard guitar, harmonica, and stomping. “Rock me, Mama, like a wagon wheel…” “This land is my land…”

Or maybe they were whispered memories. Invasion.