With his right hand, he closed the back door, looked to the early morning sun rising behind the perfectly portioned Ash. The soft whispers of its delicate light green leafs and the song of the sparrows played him to the gate. The grass had not yet been relieved from the morning’s dew and his feet were quickly soaked through by the time he made it to the park. He left a trail of size nine dark green prints in an once perfect silver sheet cutting a line between the perpetual motion amusements and swings, while the odd weave here and there signaled a dog shit dodge. The sky was a light blue between the clouds that were being ripped apart by a gentle but bone chilling breeze.