Jack and I took a walk through the park on a foggy morning. We crossed the road and went through the gate, and took the path up the hill.
He'd never been there before, and he was excited - the smells were different from being on the paved streets. Coyote poop, owl pellets, horse manure. Birds in the brush and rabbits hopping away fast.
The trees and grasses closed in over the path, and the dew dripped down on us. The path narrowed and doubled back on itself, ascending by railroad-tie framed steps. Some of summer's flowers still shone, dried and gone to seed.
You know how they talk about sagebrush in western landscapes? This is black sage, and it grows in the hills here. When you brush past the leaves on a foggy morning you can smell the fresh scent.
We looped through the trees, then up the hill, and emerged at the top of the rise, overlooking our neighborhood, and then we went home. We were both ready for a good breakfast.