Out of the Past

Shortly after writing the post below I left for work. Several blocks before I arrive at the local I pass the home of a community organizer who was involved in the effort twelve years ago to establish a real civilian review board for the city's police department. She was a member of People's Coalition for Justice (PCJ).

She was outside on the sidewalk this morning looking worried. Her nephew had just left to walk to the elementary school down the hill; he had insisted she not walk with him or follow him to school this morning because the other boys walk alone. So she was craning her neck trying to keep track of him as he disappeared down the street.

I said hello and told her that I had been thinking this morning about all the organizing that had been done around the police shooting of Aaron Roberts. When I said this I pointed up the hill in the direction of 23rd and Jackson where the Starbucks is; the Starbucks where I run into her now and then; the Starbucks we boycotted back in 2001. She looked at me, as if to say, "Who is this guy?" and then nodded her head.

She walked with me to busy Yesler down which her nephew was moving out of sight. She said, "I don't want him to see me. There he is. In the red jacket."

And there he was. A tiny figure in red moving down the hill barely discernible to my weakening eyesight.

After wishing her a good day, I put my earbuds back in and crossed Yesler; Erykah Badu's "Agitation" shuffled on my iPod. I owe my appreciation of Erykah Badu to the insane girlfriend from last night's dream.

Hiding Under the Trees

The birds are hungry.  For the past couple of weeks whenever I walk through Pratt Park during the lunch hour on my way to Yesler and then on up to Douglass Truth Library I am preyed upon by seagulls and ravens.  I eat, usually a piece of fruit and an energy bar, while I ride, as the English say, shanks' pony.  When the weather is warm the seagulls rarely pester me.  (As long as I'm holding something edible, the big black birds bother me no matter what time of year.)

Now that it's chilly and the days short the seagulls come inland looking for food.  They're attracted to Pratt Park because it's a large green space surrounded by dense housing with lots of foot traffic.  The seagulls travel in flocks and can spy me from high above and far away.  Guano spatters the ground when the flock moves in and circles overhead thinking I have food.  Seagulls can be aggressive.

So today rather than cut through the park I stay on Main Street, which borders the park on the south and fronts Pratt Fine Arts Center, and then take a left and go north on 20th until I reach Yesler.  This way I am hidden beneath the trees that line the sidewalk.  And while the raven will follow you by flying from tree to tree, the seagull cannot; it has a long wingspan and webbed feet.