Here, a community gathers on the first of spring to celebrate their new year. Here, everyone is family. Young and old flock to the shade of the giant oaks, towering above picnickers shielding them from the heat of the sun, making way for a cool breeze to flow through the morning due shifting the soft grass back and forth to the rhythm of wind. You can hear the gentle waves of the Willamette brushing against the sand, eventually drowned out by the laughter of children and the as they run among each other passing a ball up and down an open field. Meanwhile you can smell the warm scent of pollen in the air as the sweet fragrance of hot tea wafts from the group of seniors sitting in by the long wood benches, bolts rusted brown through the years having miraculously held up against the test of time, securing the weathered planks in place so that the elderly could drink to the nostalgic reminiscence of their youth. While the gaiety begets laughter and merriment, so does a good time beget its own inevitable end. As evening marches closer people gather around the crackling fire, enjoying the heat against cold embrace of the calm night sky as embers rise from the dry timber paced centered on the field, lain upon smooth cold stones sheltering the lush green from the dangers of the flames. Together the members of this community come closer together under the moon of a new season. Here, everyone is family.