I settle at a table under a small tree. Leafy shadows dance on the tabletop, circular and marked with a giant “e.” Cyclists pass on the path before me, leisurely tourists on rented cruisers, road bike commuters eager to get to their destination.

A woman dressed in black lays out a large wool blanket on the grass. Eyes closed, palms up, she reclines onto her back, her face, her posture an offering to the sun that warms overhead. Everyone seems content on a day like today, gratitude easy for a city freed from months of grey with sun glinting off emerald waters, ferries crisscrossing and sailboats venturing to the horizon.

Pedestrians stop to consider the sculptures in the park. I hear a woman point to my table, the adjacent tree and benches. “It spells Love & Loss,” she explains to the elderly man hunched at her side. A glowing ampersand rotates above the installment on the other side of the tree. She goes on: “The tree is actually the ‘v.’ It spells ‘Love’ from this perspective on the path. If you climb the hill and view it from there, you see the word ‘Loss.'” He grunts in response, unimpressed.

I sit and write on the “e,” consider the love, the loss that marks a day, a season’s transition. The people pass, they soak it all in. Another person stops to consider the art: “I think it’s supposed to spell out ‘Love,’ but I’m not sure where the ‘e’ is.” She puzzles over this with her companion. My notebook, my novel, my bag, my water bottle are strewn over the ‘e’ as I work.

I gather all my things, make room for the hidden letter as a tanker ship enters the bay. I climb the grassy hill. Time for a new perspective.