Yesterday the park belonged
to dads throwing whiffle balls
for small boys who missed, missed, then
connected with solid thwap. 
It belonged to moms, strollers,
happy dogs chasing frisbees,
old folks sitting in the shade. 
This morning, minutes past dawn,
it belongs to a handful
of early walkers and me. 
And the birds. Three herons glide
into the pond. Song sparrow
sings atop the pavilion. 
Killdeer race ahead of me.