Todd and I took Chad to the park on the hill, because it was an achingly beautiful evening and we’d never been there in the winter.
Somewhere there was the hollow noise of the interstate, the whish of cars on side streets, the hum of heaters. All the noise of town drifted up to us in a vague impression of noise, the merest echo of sound. The river made continuing sounds below us, as the water ran under the ice. The crows waged turf wars, rival factions fighting over roosting realestate.
We admired an abandoned house from afar,
then headed to the playground.
We had come to play on the slide, which is very long. We brought an old rug for that purpose. Chad got a little scared, but then the rug provided such good friction that I had time to turn my camera on and take pictures before he ever reached the bottom.
Fortunately there was some old plastic sheeting laying around, which sped things up quite a bit.
Chad over came his fear, and went down several times, not even minding the bumpy part at the bottom. He said he was having so much fun it was worth the pain!
The crows kept launching themselves from the trees,
the sun set,