When I was coming home from my Sunday walk along the river, I made it a point to stop through Ravenswood Park. The park is always populated by dogs and their people, and I love to watch their Who’s Leading Who dance.

Today, I was extra delighted with my visit. A play was going on.

I guessed it was some sort of a Shakespearean comedy. A painted backdrop of a village was hung from a redwood trellis. The actors and actresses had youthful, pink complexions and sounded so earnest in their period roles. They seemed so passionate about performing, even in a park in front of only 30 people.

What an incredible labor of love, I thought; to put on a play in a park. So much work goes into memorizing lines and building a set, even a simple one, then designing posters then taping them in the windows of local cafes and small businesses.  And all of this was being done for only a couple performances.

I watched the farce for a few minutes, trying to see if I could tap into my history of English Lit classes to come up with the title and names of the heroes and heroines. I couldn’t help but notice how everyone in the park had made themselves comfortable.  People brought their own folding chairs, blankets and thermoses of iced tea (or perhaps something stronger). I imagined most of the crowd was friends or family of the performers, or neighbors or patrons of the shops that agreed to post signage in their windows.

It looked like some people planned to spend their afternoon here and others, like myself, tripped upon the production by accident and decided to stay, or at least decided to stay for a while.

While the play took center stage in Ravenswood Manor Park, I noticed that the play didn’t put a stop to life as usual in the little green triangle three blocks from my home. The park retained its defining features; the maple trees, and wood-chip filled play lot, hip-high hyacinths, U-shaped bicycle posts and gray picnic tables.

The blinking red warning alarm and gate that announced trains pulling into the Francisco Station continued to sound off during the performance.  Bunny rabbits and birds continued to scavenge for food scraps along the perimeter of the lawn.  Five year-old boys chased each other, carrying hollowed out Day-Glo orange clubs, more posturing than actually threatening, making sure that the gallery was never completely quiet.

I love surprises, but I had to wonder, what was the bigger surprise? Coming across a play in the park unexpectedly or realizing the play didn’t disturb anything that typically took place in the park? The play was just part of a bigger show.

When I think about it, there’s always something to look at. Usually, my attention will be captured by something more improvisational than scripted, but there are always opportunities to witness someone’s expression.

Today, the play’s the thing. Next week, I may be fascinated by watching girls in the park jumping Double Dutch with nylon ropes or a teen playing guitar by the swings.

I love surprises, but I don’t have to trip across an unexpected performance in the park to feel that I am witnessing something special.

The variety of ways people express themselves is as varied as waves rolling onto the shore. Life itself presents no end of entertaining or thought-provoking shows, and that’s certainly no small thing.