Fearless little bird with chocolate brown head runs beside me

on the road. At the intersection I circle to the left, following

a familiar route. The heavy tree canopy here always astonishes.

It’s almost like walking in a forest.

The architectural variety amazes: mid-century modern, Spanish,

colonial, ranch, the smallest I am guessing contains 3500 sq. ft. One

house encompasses an entire city block, fronted with heavy, high

fences and metal gates. Privacy obsessed.

I’m watching my time. I don’t want to be late for singing

practice. I take a new route, perhaps a shortcut. It’s

120 degrees of a circle. Not quite a regular street,

not quite an alley, a combination–fronts of a few houses

and the backside of others. At one place it angles more;

I come to a three story stone fortress with intricate

geometrical designs vertically running up and down

the walls. No windows. A sign says, “No trespassing.”

Realization hits me. This is the other side of a house

I saw last year through a gap in a wall on another street.

Three ladies, strangers, asked me about it, told me they’d

heard it was the creation of a famous architect. I researched,

asked others, no one knew. Back then, I tried to find the front,

failed. Now I’m looking at it, wonderstruck. It appears abandoned,

an architectural wonder belonging to another time and place.

Time to rush, a bit lost, I look at my phone map, finish the loop,

find a familiar street, walk faster. Then I see a large, white, colonial house,

weeds knee high, black shutters hanging askew. Here it is abandoned

in the midst of multi-million dollar houses. I wonder what the neighbors

think. Walking on I hear water rushing, peer through the hedges–a stream

runs downhill from the side of this huge brown house at least 100 feet

and gurgles in a pool behind the bushes. Hurrying, I stop in front of one

of my favorite houses, a one-story, tan, Spanish style, small compared

to the others nearby. I take a photo of the tree in front by the sidewalk,

its impressive girth impossible to ignore.

Finally, I’m near my destination, walking in front of The Gamble House,

a tourist destination made famous by the movie, “Back to the Future”,

a structure I see at least twice a week.