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A chain of random events led me to Riverbend and Great Falls. Where the river bends, it was surprisingly quiet. Its bank is flat, and water still. I let out a few shouts; they all met with silence. I threw a stone here and there only causing bubbles that fizzled quickly. It looks very different in Great Falls. The picnic ground was crowded; I had some mixed salad and grilled salmon at a table with a bear and a cub (a wonderful cub). Down the river, I stopped at a hidden beach to say hi to a tiger and a dragon. On a tree limb, I sat a while drinking tea with a poet at the water’s edge. A wise one and I walked on; we climbed up a boulder and contemplated for a moment a breathtaking view of the river and cliffs. Some were trying the Billy Goat on the other side of the river. Those who followed the Ridge would in the end arrive at Difficult Run, the park’s boundary. I heard three young girls laughing there, their laughter resounding bright above the river. I did not go down that path this time: I was drawn by the roaring rapids, where the river has made its turn, and drops, to reveal dramatic new scenery. I had Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents and Rilke’s Duino Elegies with me but didn’t read them. I thought of Miguel Asturias and Men of Maize.

The random events involved bugs in my gut, pastries in a store, and police cars on the streets, and might have started much earlier with some Chinese dumplings I ate.

Temperature plummeted today; summer has definitely receded. There is still a large crowd at the Lincoln Memorial. Two guys are running on the Mall and will probably linger there for a while. As a woman holds a boy’s hand walking across the 1st street, an old man passes by on the sidewalk, his body leaning, supposedly, homeward. The carousel in front of the Castle is at rest; under the streetlight, the horses appear to have a soft luster. From an ice cream truck come a stream of music notes; it is not a tune I grew up with yet sounds familiar, pleasing to the ear.

In Rock Creek Park, acorns fall split open on newly paved Beach Drive. Tree leaves are turning brown; it’s been very dry, and I am afraid there may not be good colors this fall. The creek seems to be drying out too. It comes to my mind this painting I saw in an art gallery (by Carrie Jacobson).

In the nation’s capital, you can easily find beautiful, smart, powerful, or rich people; many look awesome together. While it is nice to see two people share a quiet moment, and interesting to watch them immersed in deep conversations or serious discussions, I find nothing more charming than people laughing together. There is something so special about it, perhaps because I don’t see it often. At an autumn after-hour event, watching a panorama of human interactions in the courtyard of Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden through the museum’s wide glass window, I am captivated by the sight of two couples who are talking and laughing. When people laugh genuinely together, they seem to be free from too much consideration of self; the space around them is filled with light, promising hope.

An afterthought: could we use the number of times people laugh to measure well-being? After all, what’s the point of dancing in darkness?

At Baltimore Inner Harbor is a beautiful display of new buildings next to old brick row houses in the historical neighborhoods of Fells Point and Little Italy. On a short walk near the harbor, you can find a cool (perhaps the coolest) Barnes & Noble book store on the waterfront and then a funky art gallery in the alleys right behind those high-rises. Things look good around Broadway Market, but many row houses desperately need renovation or may just await demolition in the next redevelopment project. In the mix of things, the city shows an enchanting fluidity and seems to have a sentient soul. I cannot say I know Baltimore, though – I only got to see some of its facets.

The first chilly fall air sets in on the Mid-autumn day. The river still feels warm. Sycamores and elders have begun to change color. Paddling on the water I get to see more clearly this season’s trendy color palette. Near Chain Bridge, the river is shallower, and rocks are more exposed, showing multiple colors too. There should be a full moon tonight.

I haven’t been to this part of the town for a while. The new construction is certainly impressive, but I still find it more attractive at the old Eastern Market: even just a quick exchange of a few words with the small vendors there, be they African American mother and son, an elderly white man, or a native American, who may sell black soaps, wooden crafts, or mushrooms, reveals a kind of wit that tells me they know life.

Fall is around the corner; I hear his slipper moving on quiet leaves here and there down the trail. And the “sculpture garden” has already assumed a different character.

On Labor Day Weekend, a wet fog fell down the Blue Ridge; along the Rose River I wondered what fairies hang out in these woods.

Following the Capital Crescent Trail, I find myself walking into a jazzy town of electrifying colors. Or perhaps it’s been too long since the last time I was here.