Across from me: white, maroon, yellow, brown, red. To the left: sage green. To the right: 1930’s dirty gray. It’s a new neighborhood. With new sounds and new smells.

I sit here on a new porch, drinking coffee from an old cup, listening to the new neighborhood wake up. Red has a jogger, I’m timing him to see when he comes back. Brown has an early riser—the truck just returned to the sedan, with a handful of boards and a dangling cord, and is heading into his garage. Yellow has a beautiful golden retriever—its short-cropped brunette owner just tied him out back. Sage’s yard is pristine, no, I mean pristine. [I wonder if Home and Garden has seen it.]  I’m tempted to knock and see if gray’s owners are awake, since their car window is down and it’s starting to sprinkle. And everyone except white has at least a pumpkin for Halloween decoration.

There’s more traffic here, as I’m now on the hospital route, but that’s ok—it means I’m on the emergency plow route when the snow flies. The porch faces a different direction and the wind sounds different, almost muffled, as it bounces between the houses to get up to me. Even the birds seem to be different. I can hear them, but not see them [note to self: get bird feeder]. I don’t hear any morning doves. I think I miss that sound. I wish grandpa was still with us, he’d be able to tell me what bird makes the noise that I am hearing. That last one was though? That was a crow, I know that sound.

I smell my caramel creamer, and fresh cut grass [the boy child had to mow yesterday, he couldn’t stand the long grass], a touch of exhaust from the traffic, and something else I can’t quite place. The flowers and trees are dead, the leaves changed and mostly fallen, so it’s not the flora. It’s a good smell, but the source is elusive… I’ll figure it out.

Oh hey, a small person just walked by [on a mission guessing from her speed] and waved. I smiled and waved back. I wonder where she lives and if she’s age appropriate for one of the kids. Which reminds me, there’s a trampoline in the yard at the corner… I bet the girl child friends the owner by the end of the weekend.

I just hope to be unpacked. There are so many boxes [and the muse is lost inside one of them!], so much history to rearrange [I think I’ll redo my bookshelves for a change of pace], and so much to do to make this feel like home. It’s all new, but rather than think of it as scary-new, like a lump where one doesn’t belong, I’ve decided to think of it as exciting-new, like shoes that are shiny and fun. I might get blisters, but only until they’re worn in.

Damn, my coffee cup is empty.  Time to make a new pot… and unpack something.

0 Responses to New

  • That’s a wonderful morning description. Every time we pack, or unpack, or go through boxes in the attic, or an old file cabinet, different things matter…thanks for sharing.


  • Mike Oliveri says:

    Your small-town neighborhood is much more interesting than mine. Mine is loaded with retirees, some of whom disappear to warmer weather for months at a time and others who seem to fear the sun. A young couple, still childless, moved in next to us, and they got a wicked-cool black lab who comes to visit. And that’s about as interesting as it gets.


  • jenn says:

    Awesome morning ‘obs’! [note 2 self: need new bird feeder!] Thanx 4 reminding me!

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