pcflvly
Well-known member
I passed the night in Savannah with the friend of a friend now a friend too and in the morning rode out to explore the city. The ride zigzagged through all the state streets, Kansas, Hawaii, Pennsylvania, Connecticut and more. I traversed a continent all in one small neighborhood to Park Avenue which leads to Forsythe Park and Bull Street.
The park was large and bisected by a promenade along which there was what looked like an altar. It was led by a deer skull bedecked with beads, the horns entwined with tendrils from the forest. This was guarding a fabric covered in stones and beads some of which were wire wrapped. This was all surrounded by branches, leaves, and flowers. There was a dog staked there but no people visible. The artist was nearby under a tree though and greeted me. We became friends. She knew my friend Pentacle. There was a large public chime next to us and two young girls rang them while we talked.
I rode on through the park and then down Bull Street which ran from the park to the river and was interrupted every few blocks by public squares honoring heroes of the revolution and the civil war, each surrounded by splendant architecture which over the centuries had hosted George Washington and other luminaries. Each square was crowned with a grand monument and shaded by ancient moss draped trees.
I rode on to the ballast cobbled streets parallel to the river then took the river trail west. There was a group of drunk men at the end near a monument which I'd stopped to read and one of them approached me asking for change. I obliged by quickly changing from what they'd seen as a probably flush bicycle tourist into a brother of the road this occurring when one of the other men looked deeply in my eyes and saw who I truly was. This man was very drunk though, they all were, and he misunderstood what he was seeing, thinking that we must have met somewhere. In that light, the light of brotherhood, he took my hand and offered a deep connected prayer. As I see things, he had a direct connection. A drunken angel is still an angel.
I rode on from there back towards Forsythe Park along a different street which also had a string of plazas. I stopped at the Society of the Cincinnati headquarters. I didn't go in but I wondered if inside it was as opulent as the Society headquarters in DC where I'd worked so many years ago.
I met Sean when I got back to the park. He's an artist who offers prints of his paintings of the plazas and the town for donations. He works in crayon, colored pencil, and acrylic achieving a uniquely tasteful depiction of what he sees. If these words were a painting they would look like his art. In that similtude of creation, we became friends. While we talked, a young woman from Statesboro, Lizzy, approached us and took our picture together with a mini polaroid camera. Her and I talked and became friends.
When I got back to where I was staying, the ten year daughter of my friends took me on a bike ride to a nearby farm. There was a dog there as big as a miniature pony and an actual pony that size. We met the dog first, then the pony as we rode back to the trails, then rode all the trails.
First she showed me the old canal then I taught her how to hop a log or a step without getting off the bike. We rode to a dead end at a marsh then rode a single track through the woods which to my delight were full of all the plants of the eastern forest. I stuck her shirt with some clingweed then laughed as we rode on and her shoes collected more and more of the plant. We stopped again at a giant oak where she was excited to discover that she could finally climb it. She said that she'd been trying for years.
We met a volunteer at the corral, Jan, and she explained about the programs they offer at the farm for developmentally disabled people. While we talked, a couple walked up with the huge dog and the mini pony. They were taking them to a large pen where they could play together. We followed to watch.
The dog and pony were certain friends and they ran and frolicked. While they played, my young friend asked if she could walk the pony and they agreed. They gave her the lead and the girl and the pony ran and ran.
We rode back to the house then and I rested one more night. In the morning, my friends sent me off loaded with groceries, flush with a few dollars, and heartwarmed with hugs. I set off down the street propelled by a serenade of voices saying, "we love you".
The park was large and bisected by a promenade along which there was what looked like an altar. It was led by a deer skull bedecked with beads, the horns entwined with tendrils from the forest. This was guarding a fabric covered in stones and beads some of which were wire wrapped. This was all surrounded by branches, leaves, and flowers. There was a dog staked there but no people visible. The artist was nearby under a tree though and greeted me. We became friends. She knew my friend Pentacle. There was a large public chime next to us and two young girls rang them while we talked.
I rode on through the park and then down Bull Street which ran from the park to the river and was interrupted every few blocks by public squares honoring heroes of the revolution and the civil war, each surrounded by splendant architecture which over the centuries had hosted George Washington and other luminaries. Each square was crowned with a grand monument and shaded by ancient moss draped trees.
I rode on to the ballast cobbled streets parallel to the river then took the river trail west. There was a group of drunk men at the end near a monument which I'd stopped to read and one of them approached me asking for change. I obliged by quickly changing from what they'd seen as a probably flush bicycle tourist into a brother of the road this occurring when one of the other men looked deeply in my eyes and saw who I truly was. This man was very drunk though, they all were, and he misunderstood what he was seeing, thinking that we must have met somewhere. In that light, the light of brotherhood, he took my hand and offered a deep connected prayer. As I see things, he had a direct connection. A drunken angel is still an angel.
I rode on from there back towards Forsythe Park along a different street which also had a string of plazas. I stopped at the Society of the Cincinnati headquarters. I didn't go in but I wondered if inside it was as opulent as the Society headquarters in DC where I'd worked so many years ago.
I met Sean when I got back to the park. He's an artist who offers prints of his paintings of the plazas and the town for donations. He works in crayon, colored pencil, and acrylic achieving a uniquely tasteful depiction of what he sees. If these words were a painting they would look like his art. In that similtude of creation, we became friends. While we talked, a young woman from Statesboro, Lizzy, approached us and took our picture together with a mini polaroid camera. Her and I talked and became friends.
When I got back to where I was staying, the ten year daughter of my friends took me on a bike ride to a nearby farm. There was a dog there as big as a miniature pony and an actual pony that size. We met the dog first, then the pony as we rode back to the trails, then rode all the trails.
First she showed me the old canal then I taught her how to hop a log or a step without getting off the bike. We rode to a dead end at a marsh then rode a single track through the woods which to my delight were full of all the plants of the eastern forest. I stuck her shirt with some clingweed then laughed as we rode on and her shoes collected more and more of the plant. We stopped again at a giant oak where she was excited to discover that she could finally climb it. She said that she'd been trying for years.
We met a volunteer at the corral, Jan, and she explained about the programs they offer at the farm for developmentally disabled people. While we talked, a couple walked up with the huge dog and the mini pony. They were taking them to a large pen where they could play together. We followed to watch.
The dog and pony were certain friends and they ran and frolicked. While they played, my young friend asked if she could walk the pony and they agreed. They gave her the lead and the girl and the pony ran and ran.
We rode back to the house then and I rested one more night. In the morning, my friends sent me off loaded with groceries, flush with a few dollars, and heartwarmed with hugs. I set off down the street propelled by a serenade of voices saying, "we love you".
