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Creek Running North
June 10, 2003
The creek was high tonight, nearly filling the Corps of Engineers channel down to the bay. A mated pair of mallards paced Becky and me, the four of us flying north together.
The new berm road is now covered in heavy bluerock gravel, smothering the burrows beneath, with deep ruts where the heavy equipment broke through or mired. Not bad for running in its current condition, though that will change when the blacktop gets poured. The road is better than twelve feet wide, hideously overengineered for a trail. A mockingbird regarded me, flitting from one survey stake to the next and then looking back, as if to scold me for not having yanked them when I had the chance. I could have pulled them, wasted a day of some worker's careful geometry, tossed them into the bay to wash up on the riprap in Benicia.
It would have been, at best, a momentary delay.
The sun is setting almost due north, it seems. We stopped and watched it slip behind Lachryma Montis, the Sonoma hills eating it edge by edge, until it became a pale line, held for a second, and winked out. I shook the spots from my eyes and ran some more. Frog song filled Fernandez Park, drowned out the screaming little league parents in the ballfield. The hill seemed not nearly as steep as last time.