Downtown at the park, 6:05 p.m. - Don't howl for me, howler monkey

"And the wind began to blow..." I love that line. I'm sitting in one of the city's main downtown parks. It's the oldest park in the city and jammed with "stuff," like a bandshell, picnic tables, tennis courts, a stage and a kiddie play place.

The grass is lush and green and practically begs for a picnic blanket and lazy summer afternoons spent lolling in the sunshine with families and Frisbees and frollicking dogs. Not now though.

At this time in the evening, the human population is virtually nil. The sun is mostly obscured by clouds and the light is starting to fade fast. There really isn't much going on.

The main attraction seems to be the kiddie castle. A couple families have their children out for an early evening playdate. One young and harried-looking father in a pair of sandals, some ugly black-and-red shorts and a gray wife-beater is trying to shepherd his three young howler monkeys into the play area. Two girls and one little boy refuse to be corraled. "Look, a stone dragon." "Look, a picnic table." "Look, a water fountain. I want a drink. I want a drink. I WANT A DRINK."

The light has a particular eerie quality; it is more or less gone, but still present. There is no sun, just the last half-hour of twilight.

The birds are starting now, their last calls of the evening. Verizon would do well to tape this for a commercial. A thousands tweets are suddenly coming alive. I can hear feathered fiends squawking in the trees all around me. Deep cheeps, tiny tinny cheeps and every sort of cheep, cheep in between.

The breeze is picking up. It is colder and smells faintly of the salt of the ocean, even though the water is a half-mile away. There is a taste of rain on the air, the oncoming storm. One of the city's busy arterial roads straight through to the business district is less than twenty feet away and cars are starting to come by with their lights. People are heading downtown to the old theater, the restaurants and shops and flitting by in their finery for an evening of parade and promenade.

Here come two more young mothers. Well, at least one mother and one mother to be. One is obviously heavily pregnant; she is walking with difficulty. The other, who has that "tired mommy of a toddler" look, tries in vain to call out to her child, a raven-haired tot wearing a ruffled pink tee and white shorts who has picked up a stick and is running far ahead, waving it like a magic wand. There are fewer than half a dozen people here and the mother is still rightly worried about her child.

The mother amble into the play area after the tot and amble back out. I don't know what they're looking for. Amusement?

Now the child is crying. Maybe she fell down. The howls are getting louder, although I don't see any obvious sign of hurt. I just see a brat throwing a tantrum.

I never understand why children will insist on screaming in public places. The mother is asking her "Are you done? Are you done now?"

The mommies are walking off; now they're getting in a ratty minivan. The litle girl is still staring at the stone sculpture dragon, wanting to play. They call to her "We're leaving. Sorry, Brianna stays at the park." That doesn't elicit a response. Now the tone turns angrier. "Come on."

No dice. So the mother goes over and picks up her child. Now Brianna really cuts loose with the lung power.

There's a guy juggling. He walked up to a picnic bench right across from me during the drama with the mommies and the screaming howler monkey.

Juggler Man has two cans of tennis balls and seems pretty intent on his craft. The wind is ruffling his hair and tossing the balls about and he doesn't miss a beat. Two balls in one hand. Over. Under. Over. Under. Over. Under. The eyes are the thing to watch while juggling. The concentration it must take is amazing. I could never juggle.

The wind is still blowing. The juggler continues. He's got all three tennis balls out now. Over. Under. Around. Over. Under. Around. He's crossing his arms and doing tricks with the balls. There's a lot of practice that has gone into this routine.

There's a kid and his dad walking up from the parking lot across the street. The kid is just staring at the guy juggling. I love the sheer wonderment of children - even if I hate the children themselves. The little boy can't be more than three. He has a piece of string he's toting around like it is his best buddy and a tennis ball of his own. I wonder if maybe one day he will grow up and think of that guy he saw juggling in the park.

Old people coming up now. Power walking with a serious need for speed. God forbid anyone get into their path. They would be cut down like a protester at a John Kerry speech.

She's wearing a pair of olive khakis and a blue and pink striped polo. He's got olive shorts and a ugly red and blue check short sleeve shirt. They've both got walking shoes on. Old people with a health fetish. I wonder if they eat olives? Olives are supposed to be good for your health.

The juggler is still at it. He's holding a tennis ball in one hand and moving it up and down while juggling the other two with one hand to give the illusion of juggling.

The sky is darker now. The wind is colder and the warmth of the day is almost gone. I love the evening. I wish this time didn't have to end. It feels so special, the day slipping into night.

My time is up. Thank you.