A walk

There is a street in Provo, more commonly known as 200 N, that also secretly goes by the name "Shakespeare Street".  

There is a certain type of pine tree (possibly the Weeping Cedar or Hemlock) whose needles grow in round star-burst patterns from the branch, and whose pine cones are miniature and perfectly shaped.  The needles are soft and waxy, and the branches droop almost like a willow.  The pine cones grow in bunches like some sort of fruit.

No one can resist freshly poured cement, but in Provo you don't just get hand prints.  You get a rendering of the Space Needle.  Go look.  It is on the west side of 700 E, just before 200 N.

Our return missionary population makes itself known by also contributing to the fresh cement artwork.  Asian characters of some sort adorn a slab around 500 E.

When you are wearing shoes puddles are an annoyance to be walked around.  In bare feet they are a refreshing aquatic adventure!

Some cement, when wet, feels slimy under foot.  Why is this?

Walking under fruit trees offers an intriguing experience not unlike walking through a squshy mine-field. 

There is an apple hedge on 700 N.  It is magnificent. 

You eventually stop looking at the ground for rocks if you just keep walking long enough.  

A vivid spring green tree against a bright summer sky, punctuated with black seedpods, is a most arresting combination.  Especially when the sunlight is shining through its small leaves which are shaped somewhere between Maple leaves and stars and the seed pods are round and spiky like little UFOs.  

As I walked down 800 E, just before I got to the park, I came upon a delightful little house with a porch and shutters and a Great Dane on the lawn and bushes under the windows and a tree to one side.  Sitting precisely in the middle of the open doorway, with his little elbows on his little knees was a wee boy about 5 years of age.  He was wearing the most delightful little sandals with delightful little tube socks that came half-way up his little legs, and a delightful little striped polo shirt.  He watched me seriously as I approached his domain, turning only his head as I came along.  Just as I came directly in front of him, without cracking a smile, he lifted one little arm and waved to me.  I waved back, which seemed to encourage him enough to say hello.  I said hello back and paused a moment.  He asked me where my mom was and I told him she was far away.  I asked him where his mother was and he told me that she was in the kitchen.  She was making lunch.  I asked him if the Great Dane on the lawn was his.  He looked around, unsure which dog I was referring to, and then carelessly waving his other arm in the general direction of the dog said "Oh, my dog is right there."  From inside the house I heard a laugh, and his mother appeared at the door.  "Hello!  He just loves talking to people walking by!"  With a smile I continued my walk as I heard my little man asking his mother where I was going.  "She's going for a walk.  Isn't that nice?"  And thanks to you, little man, it really was.