Jake and I were walking through the park this morning when we entered a quiet, secluded space where someone had lain eggs and flowers and shells and birdseed on top of the stones. It was eerie and somewhat mysterious. What had happened there? A wiccan wedding? A full moon worship session? A bunch of florists, high on E? I mean, it is San Francisco.
I returned later with my camera. A few tourists had stumbled upon the area, along with a woman walking her dog. The dog lady explained that the area is a fairy dell, where people come to worship nature. Huh. The things I learn.
She then explained the origin of the stones (they’re from an old monastery or chapel imported from Spain or France – but I already knew that).
I almost felt like I’d entered a Thomas Hardy novel. Decay and nature and worship – it pleases me that people claim the park as their own in so many different ways.