When you first enter the big park, a hill covered in towering pines greets you. In the grass to the left of the wide path of concrete-made-to-look-like-stone-paving,
So much more convivial than benches. The relaxed, friendly atmosphere has a counter, though. Police barracks, fences, and security cameras line the right side of the path, making you more nervous than reassured. Why the need for such measures, you wonder.
When you crest the hill, the sparkle of sun-dazzled waves beckons you, promising that the climb back up the slope won't be too arduous, so why don't you just mosey on down. When you tire of looking at the water,
you can have a seat, just not this one; it's taken:
But there's plenty of room by the cowherd beneath the oaks. Maybe she'll even give you that pair of mittens she's knitting.*
* I know this is a crummy photo, but to my great sadness and annoyance with myself, I am still too shy to approach people and ask if I may take their picture. I saw her knitting but don't know if it really was mittens. I see a lot women sitting on the street who are knitting mittens, so perhaps this woman was, too.