It was my birthday, and out of a slight shade of melancholy, or reflectiveness, I decided to take a run on the trails in Griffith Park at dusk before meeting a few friends at a bar. It took a bit of time to get going, and I hadn't run in months, so by the time I was hitting sole to sand it was almost dark. I had what you might call a perfect moment. I came across a deer on one of the last bends in the fire trail. We stared at each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to move. As the deer was about to, instead he cocked his ear a bit as if listening to something. And, suddenly, there it was. An ever-growing wave of noise, an undulation of expectation, that neck hair raising "waaaaaah" as a rare performer takes the stage. And for that moment in the near black, the deer and I stood transfixed, looking off towards the hill over the Greek Theater right below us, listening to the crowd call up Eric Clapton.
The deer and I ran off, he a little quicker. I like to think we both listened to the opening of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" as it reverberated through the canyon and we ran our separate ways. The night was so filled with beauty, the sound of cheering so incredible, the deer such good company. I was indeed happy to be alive in Los Angeles.
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