Hammond Hills walks are a solo affair for me. Pam joined in days past, summer and winter, and fell out of love with the lack of flowing water and bugs. The pleasures of the place, for me, are the miles and miles of varied trails, the sounds among silences, unexpected vistas from hilltops.
The trails themselves are unlovely, beaten down by mountain bike tires or grooved by skis. On the hills I am always on alert, listening for the sounds of bodies hurtling down. The bureaucrats called this “mixed use.” It could be worse, motors are excluded. Today there were two bikers.
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A sprinkling of wild rose.
The song of the Hermit Thrush, a sound of diamond strands, always stops me. Here are two 30 seconds clips.
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Michael Stephen Wills Photography 
It was a joy to walk through the woods here, Michael Stephen, cool and peaceful. I also really liked hearing the hermit thrush. We have them winter here in Calif., but because they leave in spring for their breeding grounds, we never hear them. Lovely to hear them here.
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I love that sound.
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