On Saturday D. and I had an errand to do in Los Gatos, and before leaving town we took a brief walk along a nearby stretch of the Los Gatos Creek Trail. Here's some of my pics.
A house finch near the parking lot looks for seeds to eat.
Looking downstream at the creek in its concrete flood control channel.
The fruit of a holly-leaf cherry.
The trail bridge over Highway 17 is lined with artwork by schoolchildren depicting scenes common to life in Los Gatos. Hmm, kiddie art. Let's take a look, shall we?
Los Gatos was named by European settlers for the mountain lions often seen in the nearby Santa Cruz Mountains. There are even statues of the big cats, and cat imagery is prevalent.
Either this is some kind of pock-marked fountain, or a spud-like UFO has landed, perhaps due to a blown gasket and resulting spewing of inter-galactic transmission fluid. Either way, the sun seems really happy about it.
"Sock Monkey With Earmuffs" (or, "Paul Frank Be Jammin'").
"Wild Cats, Red Wood Tree And The Poopy". Yes, the poopy. "They sure know their cats!" says D., who has scooped his share of litter box leavings. Well, they may know cats but they don't know how to spell poppy (or Leona, for that matter; "Loeno"??). And just what are those blobs of color floating in the air, anyway?
The Golden Vulture soars overhead like a majestic drone, dwarfing the girl on the ground (who represents our innocent, unquestioning acceptance of the military-industrial complex, perhaps). The vulture's pinkish exhaust seemingly defies the known laws of aerodynamics with its 90º turn, and defies the laws of nature by spawning a flock of seagulls who form an orderly formation over the mountains, perhaps representing our secret desire to fly away and be free of our quotidian concerns (or possibly our secret desire to poop on people's cars, I dunno).
Aagh! It's Creepy Guy! OMG, this is going to show up in my nightmares, I just know it. That milky eye, that unibrow, that swirling miasma of white ectoplasm hovering nebulously at his left temple like some half-formed unclean thought just below the threshold of awareness. Ew.
"Hey kids, want some candy?" Ew.
*Snicker* Oh, gosh darn it, busted. *Snicker*
♪♫♪ Put me in, Coach. ♪♫♪ A forgotten baseball rests in the parking lot of the History Museum of Los Gatos at the Forbes Mill Annex next to the trail.
Below the Main St. overpass, a mural depicts a native Ohlone village from the era prior to European settlement.
A trompe l'oeil hut in the mural conceals the door to a maintenance chamber in the wall of the overpass (you can make out the outlines of the door around the hut's opening. The wooden steps leading up to it give it away.
We are a mere 80' away from the shoulder of Highway 17. The din of the traffic drowns out all conversation.
At the next junction we take the Flume Trail because it's shadier and quieter.
A peek at Los Gatos Creek between the trees.
These stream gauges, part of a gauging station, help to monitor the depth of water in the creek.
Rainbow steps lead down from the gauging station to the creek.
The trail parallels the highway, and the noise is incessant.
California poppy (not poopy).
Seeds hanging from a huge bigleaf maple at the side of the trail are a reminder that summer is winding down.