My walk today took me along a lonely dirt trail on Presidio Hill.
The trail, among quiet trees, climbs above the location of the old Spanish presidio, the nearly 250 year old birthplace of European civilization in California. After a short distance, the trail descends toward a primitive wooden shelter overlooking a canyon.
The shelter was empty. A wreath of beautiful fresh flowers lay upset on the ground. A small floral display of some kind was broken in a corner. Torn flowers lay scattered about.
It’s a very strange mystery. But so is love.
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