Street Seen
The abandoned sofabed on my street, missing its cushions, is opened to a bed this morning.
A young man calls to a girl on a bicycle, ?You have to finish telling me about your drugged out professor!? as she rides away laughing. She waves as she disappears around the corner, perhaps promising to tell him the ending of the story, or perhaps ending the story.
In a window at the side of my building, a beautiful white cat with black spots sits serenely, gazing at me with calm amber eyes. ?I?ve seen better,? she seems to be saying. She?s right.
A woman in her car, idling at the red light, rolls down her window and calls out to me, ?Your dog is beautiful!? I smile, acknowledging this drive-by compliment. I think so, too.
My Italian neighbor stops to say good morning. He doesn?t speak English, but with the way he clasps my hands with both of his, he doesn?t need to.
A small boy skips across a busy intersection, unafraid because he is holding his father?s hand tightly. He looks up at his father, not the traffic, his face glowing with happiness and trust, his father?s with utter love.
