Bohemian Avenue #8

I am very happy in my new neighborhood. Highland Park has a unique feel to it. I think of it as a laid back version of Uptown over in Minneapolis. I’ve started to spend the spring out and about. With the change in season, the new neighborhood, and a couple of suspicions I have about the unseen things that happen around here, I have a new lease on life.

A guy from work suggested that I check out the teashop just up the street from the Highland Theater. I never knew there were so many kinds of tea. It will take quite a while for me to sample something from each jar that lines the back wall all the way to the ceiling.

I’ve started to prefer tea to coffee and spend a couple evenings a week on one of the shop’s sofas with a good book. Now you’ll find me there every Saturday morning as well.

Most of the time, there are two lovely young ladies behind the counter who brew the tea. I like to ask a question about tea to tap their knowledge. They seem to have a passion for tea. Once I get them talking, our conversations continue onto other topics and we have a pleasant time of banter and learning from one another. I am so glad that many people I have met are so friendly. It makes me glad I didn’t remain a hermit as I had during the winter. Next winter will be different.

I still go into the video store where my friend the bird girl always engages me in long pleasant chats. I want to take her to the teashop one day, but I haven’t gotten the nerve to ask her. Her smile seems to intoxicate me.

One morning in the teashop I heard about this park called Hidden Falls. I knew about Minnehaha Falls. That was just across the Ford Parkway Bridge into Minneapolis. This place was supposed to be on our side of the river. I decided to take a bottle of water and walk to Hidden Falls.

It didn’t take long to find the park. From what I had gathered from the overheard conversation, if I walked the natural lane far enough, I would find the hidden falls.

Along the way, I noticed many dressed in stereotypical “hippie” clothes. It looked like a Ragstock convention. I saw one man dressed as some sort of Scottish Highlander. These people were pouring lines of dirt or powder and stationing potted flowers around in several different places. I thought it was unusual to see occult practices so casually out in the open. It must be a special day on the Wicca calendar or something.

After my experiences of seeing the elven girl, my bird girl and now this, I was convinced there was something mysterious about the area around Highland Park. I wasn’t about to join a cult or swallow any witchcraft nonsense, but here was evidence of a superstitious acknowledgment of the mystery.

When I found the falls, it was actually anticlimactic. They were a few smelly trickles falling about six feet to form a stream that didn’t seem to go anywhere. It smelled of phosphorus much like the polluted river in my hometown where I grew up. Disappointed, I began to walk home.

A bird landed on the grass not too far from me as I headed out of the park. It was a red winged blackbird. I was sure it was my bird girl.

My friend the Goth video clerk and I never brought up the possibility of her being my bird girl, but I wanted to see some results of my efforts today, so I called out to the bird. “Hey, cutie, why don’t you meet me at the Tea Source at eight o’clock tonight?”

None of the “hippies” even looked up when I spoke, but there were a few others that gave me a strange look before going about their business.

The funniest thing about the whole day is that my bird girl showed up at the teashop that evening.