Final walk together, beginning in the Richmond on Geary St.    
                 
Ate dim sum for lunch, some dumplings. Saw two baby owls                               in a tree.
Visited a toy store,
a hardware store,
a backroom   aquarium fish dealer,
a grocery store,
a balloon
shop.
Red-                                  winged blackbirds in the park guard two women playing                                         dominoes.
                             Along a short portion
of the above-ground creek:                                 massive construction projects,
calalilies, crows. Arriving at                                   Baker Beach
the sand sucks our
feet down,
a white & black dog taunts us with                        a stick,
the creek                   dribbles
                                   into the ocean,
fluctuating with the tide.   

Following the                            creek from
  Piedmont Park to
                                                                                                Lake Merritt
requires traversing stark contrasts
               and suburban                                                             spread.
                               In Piedmont Park the creek bubbles greedily
through                                                 a redwood valley,                                           
this has all been        pruned and
preened
by settlers.
                                                                                                                       I eat some olives. Down
past Grand Lake Theater          and to the lake,
an abundance of music and curious passersby.
                                 Geese and church bells                               dot
the sonic landscape,         joyous
and jumping.
                                                                                         The lake acts as a huge satellite dish,                                                               reflecting and refracting sound.

The landscape is gargantuan,
                                                             yawning and                   fuzzy with
marsh brush.
Every Bird Ever is here,               flapping in the water,
hiding in the cattails,
singing in the oaks.
                      The flat lagoon offers exponential detail
of sound, point the shotgun mic any which way,
and you can hear: a goose fight,
dozens of goldfinches crowded on a branch,
ducks lamenting the ruckus,
turkeys patrolling the perimeter,
gulls lost at land,
falcons on the hunt.
                                                     Drag yourself up                                                   the hills and be swallowed by wind
and golden grasses.
The salt pools      below wink      and ripple, the Dumbarton Bridge
pulls a never-ceasing line of traffic westward.                        Sounds of children playing & snatches                                of music remind:
                                                                               birds aren’t the only ones who sing.

Someone returns to the field, the light is very clear.

Walking along a                                                     culverted section
of the creek,
                   a violin                                                                           twists itself
through                                           the landscape,
    escaping total erasure by the traffic or dog barking.

A rooster fascinates our group,                                                                                                                       we remain poised by his fence for
 at least ten minutes.
           The drone
of planes and
motorcycles 
is inescapable
                                 and becomes
a comforting lull.


A classmate buys a head of cabbage at the grocery store.


Human sounds are inescapable and inevitably bleed into every recording.

Trains call
                                              to one another
across the suburban sprawl,
 aching and lonesome on                                    their solitary                                                                                                      tracks.
Their passing
                                    is rhythmic,
a band of drummers patrolling
the neighborhood. 
Ping pong balls
and
               bored residents lead to fantastic sonic moments,
layering
and oscillating.

I buy a Coke and tacos at a truck, squeeze lemon into the bottle, drink it sitting in the grass.

Furious dogs guard a junkyard,
                             where a far-off radio airs phone calls and music.

Forgot my SD card this week...
 Made do with a stereo recording app on my phone.
Enjoy these bird sounds.

One of our first soundwalks,
                  we traverse familiar territory.


In some areas, the creek is worshipped, in most it’s underground, replaced with a stream of concrete.


I’m not sure which extreme I prefer.