“I’m sad,” I said to Steve.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I lived here and never knew to look for birds.”
This was Day 2 of our trip to the Bay Area, where I dragged Steve around to show him my old stomping grounds. Today we were at Rancho San Antonio in the Los Altos foothills, right near Cupertino where I spent two of the nine years I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area when I was in my twenties.
Rancho San Antonio is a 165-acre County Park with over 20 miles of trails for both hikers and mountain bikers. Sunday morning walks on the trails was a ritual I had—meeting up with one friend or another, crossing though meadows and under tunnels of overhanging Western Ceder, Western Hemlock, Eucalyptus and Cottonwood trees as we’d share our troubles about work, bad dates and challenging roommates.
And just like I was…
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