As a kid, I grew up a block from the city park. In those days, it was a wonder of grassy hills and valleys, a creek ran through it, with bridges and bike trails. This painting depicts the stone windmill tower in a corner of the park. It was a working windmill before my time. We used to scale the cement spillway up to the street. Older kids scaled the windmill to the top. There was a square opening near the base and I looked inside to see red dust and some old equipment, all of it covered with dust, and sunlight streamed down from the opening in the top. The dust smelled old and musty. To me, the windmill was magical. All of the stonework in the park was built by the WPA in the 1930s. To my sadness, I learned that it was bulldozed in 1990 and the park was turned into a generic-looking golf course.