It’s a great night for lovers; warm, with a light breeze, no clouds, and a bright moon. I’m standing in front of the St. Louis art museum in Forest Park (where else?), my camera on a tripod, looking for photos. I hear the voices of young couples; the women laughing, the men speaking softly in low voices. We share a space, the square surrounding the equestrian statue of King Louis IX, but I am in stealth mode, not visible to lover’s eyes. I talk to one couple briefly, but they are eager to move on. It’s too fine a night to be interrupted by some codger with a camera. After all, we are seeking fundamentally different things.

After a while it becomes silent, as the lovers move from conversation to embrace. I have finished my evening’s project, so I pack my things away in my car. A cyclist whirs by, flying down Fine Arts Drive toward Skinker Avenue. I’ll see him again on my way home, laboring uphill, heading south. It’s another day in Forest Park.