The Garden of OZ

Below the Hollywood sign is a a garden with a pathway literally paved with yellow bricks, overflowing with colorful flowers, and decorated with tiled mosaics and beaming with an energy of giddiness usually reserved for the holiday season or an acid trip. Outside the gate, locked unfortunately, is a mailbox that reads "Letters to Oz", making me anticipate a crazy flying monkey that could swoop beside me to make a pick up and delivery at any time.

Since entry inside was restricted, I ignored the "no pictures" request, but spent a minute taking a closer look at what could be hundreds of small toys that were glued or otherwise embedded in the rock work that lined the curb, from old Matchbox cars to the Sesame Street's Count.
A little web research upon my return only made the Garden of Oz more legendary. Apparently the Great and Wonderful Oz has given all the children who live nearby a key to get inside whenever they please. And the Dali Llama once sent 15 of his monks to bless the garden which features menorahs, statues, and mandalas from all over the world.

This is on the block where I grew up. The house directly across from the garden is where I picked up my fear of ventriloquist dolls. Ask me about it someday. I may have had enough therapy to talk about it freely. This was not here in the early 70's If it was I would have been able to escape that damn kid and his doll.