The water at Bull Creek
I pulled into the gravel parking lot at the same time he did, but I sat in my car listening to The Cure while contemplating whether or not I should wait for Valerie in or out of my car.
The way he sprinted out of his car, backpack slung across one shoulder, I knew why he had come: rock climbing. Bull Creek Park has a couple fairly decent bouldering walls. This man clearly came to squeeze in some climbs during his lunch break.
I chose to get out of the car. I like watching people climb.
I was wearing two tank tops beneath a long-sleeved knit shirt and sporting an orange leather jacket. Yet despite the layers, the 70 degree weather actually felt cold. Perhaps it's because the day before had been an unseasonable 90 degrees. I don't think I'll ever get over the Texas heat. Being born and raised here did nothing to acclimate me.
By the time I reached the picnic table, he had taken off his shirt, donned climbing shoes, and started up the rocky face. I watched him climb for a minute or so before he suddenly looked over his shoulder directly at me. Must have felt my eyes boring into his muscular back. I looked away. Thank God for my wide-brimmed hat. Sure it kept the sun off of my face, but it also let me hide my embarrassment.
He climbed another route, and this time I watched him out of the corner of my eye. The next time I looked directly at him, he stood to face me after reaching down for a chalk bag near his pack. He met my eyes, smiled, and slowly nodded a greeting. I smiled back then looked away.
I decided to ignore him. So what if he looked like a perfectly chiseled statue, all chest and abs and shoulders? I was a married woman, and I was not going to give him the wrong idea. I laid down on top of the picnic table, closed my eyes, and listened for the sound of Valerie's arrival.
I didn't consciously hear her car, but I knew she'd come. I sat up and scanned the parking lot. Sure enough, she was there, unbuckling her seat belt. I jumped down from the table and walked over to meet her.
We took off our shoes, rolled up our pants, then crossed the creek in our bare feet. We found a trail and followed it, but it led to some rather unexciting places: the road, a parking lot for an office building, another parking lot for the greenbelt. So, we veered off trail, picking our way along the muddy banks of the creek and back up to the area with picnic tables and climbing rocks.
After a while a dog came towards us, greeting us with a smile and a deferential blow of air out of its nose. Then it jumped into the creek.
"Ginger's hunting rocks." A little 4 year old girl told us, her blond curls reflecting the sun. Sure enough, the dog picked a rock up from the the bottom of the creek bed, carried it out of the water, then dropped it on the bank. As we watched, the dog repeated the process over and over, forming a little pile of rocks of every shape, size, and color on the water's edge.
I'd never seen a dog hunt rocks before.
Ginger really seemed to enjoy herself.
Before I knew it, an hour had passed and it was time for Valerie to leave. We agreed that we both liked walks and that this one had been fun. More importantly, we discovered that we both liked walking at night so that we could look into people's well lit homes. We also agreed that this mild voyeurism was as harmless as it was inspiring and entertaining. We parted with a final agreement: we would each take at least one night walk this week before we met again the following Friday.
The way he sprinted out of his car, backpack slung across one shoulder, I knew why he had come: rock climbing. Bull Creek Park has a couple fairly decent bouldering walls. This man clearly came to squeeze in some climbs during his lunch break.
I chose to get out of the car. I like watching people climb.
I was wearing two tank tops beneath a long-sleeved knit shirt and sporting an orange leather jacket. Yet despite the layers, the 70 degree weather actually felt cold. Perhaps it's because the day before had been an unseasonable 90 degrees. I don't think I'll ever get over the Texas heat. Being born and raised here did nothing to acclimate me.
By the time I reached the picnic table, he had taken off his shirt, donned climbing shoes, and started up the rocky face. I watched him climb for a minute or so before he suddenly looked over his shoulder directly at me. Must have felt my eyes boring into his muscular back. I looked away. Thank God for my wide-brimmed hat. Sure it kept the sun off of my face, but it also let me hide my embarrassment.
He climbed another route, and this time I watched him out of the corner of my eye. The next time I looked directly at him, he stood to face me after reaching down for a chalk bag near his pack. He met my eyes, smiled, and slowly nodded a greeting. I smiled back then looked away.
I decided to ignore him. So what if he looked like a perfectly chiseled statue, all chest and abs and shoulders? I was a married woman, and I was not going to give him the wrong idea. I laid down on top of the picnic table, closed my eyes, and listened for the sound of Valerie's arrival.
I didn't consciously hear her car, but I knew she'd come. I sat up and scanned the parking lot. Sure enough, she was there, unbuckling her seat belt. I jumped down from the table and walked over to meet her.
We took off our shoes, rolled up our pants, then crossed the creek in our bare feet. We found a trail and followed it, but it led to some rather unexciting places: the road, a parking lot for an office building, another parking lot for the greenbelt. So, we veered off trail, picking our way along the muddy banks of the creek and back up to the area with picnic tables and climbing rocks.
After a while a dog came towards us, greeting us with a smile and a deferential blow of air out of its nose. Then it jumped into the creek.
"Ginger's hunting rocks." A little 4 year old girl told us, her blond curls reflecting the sun. Sure enough, the dog picked a rock up from the the bottom of the creek bed, carried it out of the water, then dropped it on the bank. As we watched, the dog repeated the process over and over, forming a little pile of rocks of every shape, size, and color on the water's edge.
I'd never seen a dog hunt rocks before.
Ginger really seemed to enjoy herself.
Before I knew it, an hour had passed and it was time for Valerie to leave. We agreed that we both liked walks and that this one had been fun. More importantly, we discovered that we both liked walking at night so that we could look into people's well lit homes. We also agreed that this mild voyeurism was as harmless as it was inspiring and entertaining. We parted with a final agreement: we would each take at least one night walk this week before we met again the following Friday.