A cross-country runner from Berry College came to a full stop by the stream, whipped out her camera, and snapped away. I laughed and complimented her double duty. "I can't resist," she said, then snapped again and ran off down the dirt path.
Halfway up the hill, a young man called out, "Hey!" He sat atop a small stone bridge, shoeless, in shorts, with a novel open. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" I smiled, agreed, and walked on.
On my way back out, Trink, her daughter, and Maxwell headed in, Trink's fancy new chair gliding along over gravel, dirt, and root. I showed her some of the 164 pictures I had taken; she and Max posed for two more; and then they powered on, enjoying the bluebells, cherries, daffodils, spring beauties, laurel, shadows, and sunshine.
I never imagined that Trink would roam the Alley again. I suspect she even fed the fish, and I suspect they were as pleased to see her as I was.
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