October 7, 2017, 730 am 51 degrees
Chickens have emerged from their evening hiding places in Fair Oaks Village. They scurry through the parks, linger in the streets, calling out their version of “Good Morning,” At least a dozen are roaming through the park at this early hour.
Eight boats are lined up on the east side of the bridge. Some are 20-30 yards apart, stretched all the way around the bend in the river. A kayaker meanders slowly through the river as the fishermen are all managing their fishing lines.
In a cloudless sky, the sun radiates its yellow light and a huge white aura surrounds it. A dozen birds call sitting on the overhead structure of the bridge. Pigeons arrive to settle for their morning rest. No ducks yet.
More than a dozen joggers approach and run off the bridge to the Village. A man sits on the bridge wearing a purple Lakers sweatshirt, wrapped in his sleeping bag. He is reading out loud to himself. A shopping cart alongside him is loaded with bulging black plastic trash bags.
More cyclists whizz past and more runners. A woman runs on to the bridge screaming at the fishermen on both sides, “I lost my cat. Let me know if you see it. There is a reward. Look for me on the Internet.”
I see the runners return walking back to the Village. They run five laps. One recognizes me. “I have seen you in the hiking group!” Yes. I have been there. Amazing, the range of people I meet regularly on the bridge.