The lion statues lording over the park entrance at Third Street look particularly majestic beneath a pink-clouded sunset sky this evening.
"I think they're panthers," says Katie, as we veer off to take the side path, skirting the main entrance, and head into the soft summer darkness inside.
She points out that both of the cats are mane-less, and that lions have squarer heads, which is true, and I can't imagine why I didn't see it before.
Lightning bugs send out semaphores of sex in neon hues, a bug meat-market disco, hovering like little jewels in the half-light over the dim undergrowth, showing us the shape of the air.
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