Kate Sessions Neighborhood Park on New Year’s Day is alive with an array of people comprising all age groups from young children and couples to retirees. Romping dogs, of various sizes, chase balls, under barren Chestnut trees that frame a view of downtown San Diego. From the park’s location high upon a hill in a suburb of La Jolla to the north of the city, the Pacific Ocean is visible, gleaming in the sun beneath a blue sky streaked with wispy, white clouds.
A man sits on a bench, and quietly strums a guitar, sharing the instrument’s soothing notes with those reclining on the grass nearby. The sun is warm and the grass is inviting to all who would choose to do nothing on this first day of the year. This scene defines relaxation, and the park beckons souls, who stand at its edge, to linger.
A white Labor-doodle bounds up to his owner seeking a yellow tennis ball in his master’s hand. He wriggles and then sits as commanded, impatiently submitting to the admiring strokes of a woman’s hand on his head. He knows it is his duty to behave, in order to receive this small token of physical comfort. Then he is off with his owner to other distractions the tug of his leash now promises.
A collection of fir trees, that have completed their Christmas rituals, are stacked in a wild array at one end of the parking lot. All the sparkle and glitter of the season is missing from their boughs returning the trees to their natural state as they await their next fate. The pending grind of a mulching machine does not break the serenity of their last moments in the sun. What happiness and dreams did they view on their weeks of holiday glory?
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