We can once again see the path under our kitchen window where one of my daughter's friends, a boy with whom she went from preschool to high school, would ride his bike and stop right there and call out for her to look out the window and there he would be, waving energetically until I motioned for him to come on up and it would be a charming surprise every time. Given how long the scaffolds have been up, I realize now they were still in middle school, which gives the memory a rather sweet storybook quality. So much life is returning to our little garden. Neighbors are already sitting out on the benches so that we greet each other on returning home at the end of the day and stop to catch up on all the happenings we missed when the sky was blocked and everyone scurried in and out of the buildings through dark netted corridors, faces wearing that closed intent look New Yorkers get when there is no invitation to tarry, no inclination to connect. The newly revealed grounds look parched and dry, the asphalt cracked and bleached, but the benches have been steam cleaned and the trees are starting to put out leaves overhead, and everyone's shoulders seem more open, their faces welcoming, and here we are, here we still are.
Your city and your word are magical.
ReplyDeleteoh what fresh air to have those things coming down. It seems as if a cast is finally coming off.
ReplyDeleteI imagine when that tree is in full bloom, it creates a perfect little arched canopy to peep through.
ReplyDeleteSometimes, we must remove the layers in order to remember that which has always been there. Things change, but not always as much as we tell ourselves that they do. Love you, dear Angella.
ReplyDeleteThat is a long time to have those up. Some have been born and never known anything else when they look out of the window.
ReplyDeleteHow terrific to have your view back!
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