I saw something through the bushes. I noticed a forgotten path through the straw colored grass, and I walked past a spring green branch as it opened into an area with flat ground being used as a rest stop on the mountainside. There, a piece of plywood with rotting edges rested on two vertical cinder blocks. I sat on the wobbly seat. The black land at my feet was moist and springy from the morning's strong rains. A thin piece of plywood lay haphazardly next to the exposed earth. It had recently been moved because clumps of new grass poked through the earth where this plywood once left its shadow. To my left was another sitting area but the wood had fallen behind the two overturned cinder blocks.
It was quiet in this alcove. The medium sized trees with lanky overhanging branches, and the trees in front of me reduced all sounds from the 110 freeway and the world below to a dull hum. The small sounds of tiny animals and the birds were more pronounced. The air was damp and cool. It relaxed me after walking up the mountain. After a moment, I stood up to leave. I regained the path and continued my descent.