A middle-aged woman has settled in on the grass along the shore of Oakland’s Lake Merritt to enjoy the afternoon sun. She is wearing a large-brimmed hat and leaning against a lime-green shag bedrest pillow, a large bag of fried pork rinds on her lap. She is surrounded by an enormous boombox with two speakers a vinyl binder of music CDs. She is playing gospel music at full volume, and laughingly declares herself to be The Queen of the Lake.

A huge flock of geese is grazing near the toddlers’ play area, honking up a storm and leaving copious piles of droppings. The children are so happy playing on brightly colored slides and swings, they don’t seem to even notice the geese.

Further along the path, which is already partially strewn with cherry blossoms that gently perfume the air, a beautiful young woman in a bridal gown and veil is posing for a photographer at the Colonnade. She explains, with a hint of a lovely Spanish accent, that she was married several weeks ago, but on a grey and gloomy day, so she is out posing today in order to have a couple of sunny and bright wedding photos to place in her album.

The lake is not clear; it is the color of iced tea. A kayaker makes his way from the boathouse to the opposite side. Across Lakeshore Avenue, where cars are honking, a woman stops on her balcony, holding the squeegee she has been using to clean her picture window, and seems mesmerized by the kayak’s silent glide. Somebody nearby is barbequing. In a few more paces, it’s clear a middle-Eastern couple is preparing lamb on skewers over a little Japanese grill on the grass. It smells like oregano. The gospel music is still faintly audible. A shirtless middle-aged macho man has just run by in jogging shorts, looking very proud of his physique.

Several people are fast asleep, one with his head gently resting on the front wheel of his bike. Two dark skinned young women, speaking in a language unfamiliar to me, walk by with blonde babies in similar expensive strollers. A young man with a huge head of matted hair is walking very slowly up ahead. Upon closer inspection, it is obvious that he is reading. He is looking very absorbed. The title of the book is “Time and the Soul”. A middle aged woman is speaking Russian to her companion, a woman in her seventies, oddly dressed as if she expects snow today. Three Asian men are walking along carrying pink plastic bags, the ones you get from the bakeries in Chinatown.

A large, colorful billboard has been posted by the city of Oakland to depict the proposed changes to the park around the lake. It is a beautiful artist’s rendering of the new park, but it has already been defaced with gang graffiti in thick, black marker. Two forty-something women walk by wearing expensive-looking tennis outfits, but they have no rackets with them. The macho man is here again. He has run the lake and returned on his second lap. He is sweatier, but he looks even prouder now. Three girls with long blonde hair, who take no note of the macho man, are talking excitedly about something indecipherable, except that the conversation is liberally and loudly peppered with the expression “Oh my god!”.

Having completed circling the lake, and returning to the car, I marvel at the beautiful day, but even more about the eclectic mix of people who have enriched my walk. It reminds me why I choose to live here.