Coming home

I always feel relief—I’m almost home!—when I turn onto my street. I drive slowly because there are often kids and dogs playing, people walking. The young boys who live in the house on the left, just after I turn, have set up a small farm stand with a few squash, some ears of corn, an occasional tomato. A neighbor a few houses down has planted lots of flowers in the front—this is a first for them and I love the bright colors. Lawns are starting to show midsummer brown—nobody in this neighborhood has in-ground sprinklers.

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Soon I reach my driveway. One flower bed is filled with phlox, vibrant pinks and soft purples. Another bed has blackberry lilies. I saw a butterfly there the other day–maybe a Swallowtail, although I don’t really know my butterflies. After the bloom passes, the seed pods will form and open to reveal clusters of black seeds that look like large blackberries.

The driveway needs repaving—tufts of grass sprout in the cracks. When I open the car door I hear Old MacDonald Has a Farm ringing out of the front window of my next door neighbor’s house—a piano being played hesitantly and mom singing to her toddler. I smile to myself as I walk down to the mailbox, retrieve my one piece of mail, and head across the lawn to the front door.

The clethra smells sweet after a day in the heat. I put my key in the door and come into the cool living room, put my purse and mail on the table and call for the cat, who usually greets me at the door but is absent today. I go to the kitchen to put something in the fridge and hear her down in the basement. I call again and she rushes up, meowing loudly to let me know she’s starving. I’m home finally, ready to just be for a while.

2 thoughts on “Coming home

    • Thanks for your comment, Lucy.
      I have friends who have moved to over 55 communities–but I love being in a neighborhood with people of all ages out and about, especially the little kids.

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