2002-09-04 10:55 p.m.

After work I was supposed to go meet Dave Marr and Kat and help them unload our Burning Man things from their truck, but a severe wind storm detained them in the relentless Nevada desert longer than planned. So, my night became free all of a sudden. The surprise gift of time felt like finding a $20 bill in my pocket�unexpected, lucky. But, I still was not quite sure how to spend it.

On the way home from work I decided to get off the freeway in Woodside. One time I remembered seeing a plaque describing an old, historic store there�some monument to a time before Woodside was full of ominous Mercedes Benz and BMW 7 Series and CEOs. I could not even imagine such a time, at least not in that place�a time when the men of Woodside bought horses as transportation and tools, and not just entertainment for their seven�year�old daughters. Could it have ever been 1850 in Woodside?

152 years ago�long before computers and CEOs�people somehow entertained themselves using buildings like these. I can not even imagine how bored they must have been.

There was no parking after 4PM at the old Woodside General Store. The old�store�turned�museum was only open from noon until 4, and only 4 days a week. Think elementary school field trip. Elementary school was a long time ago for me. These days I am not free until 5PM�so, I had to park a half mile down the road and walk. The dizzying trees and dusty vines made a nice canopy.

I looked up.

My camera dangled from my hand�it was too big to fit comfortably in my pocket. I could vaguely smell the lichen that strangled the oak trees. Walking was relaxing, grounding. A red Lotus Elan drove by, reminding me that the dominance of the trees was a fa�ade endured by the rich simply because it is in fashion this season. At any time these ancient trees might be replaced with racks of fur�lined PDA cozies or garages full of gold�plated, twin�engined SUVs.

My tax dollars at work.

I drank almost a gallon iced tea by this time in the day. Thank god their restroom was securely locked, as well. I peed on the wall of a historic monument today.

I noticed it still smells like August here, even though it is September already. September is an in�between time. It is awkward; it is neither here�nor�there, a lot like human adolescence. September is neither childhood nor is it adulthood. It is too old to be summer; it is too young to be autumn. But this September still smells like August, and I was happy to stop and steal some breaths of August before she disappears once again.

What is it like to climb a fence? Ask the vine; ask the lichen.

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