Sunday, July 10, 2005

Our Street

It is so quiet here. No busy street. No children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk, running their tricycles up and down in total ignorance of pedestrians. No knocking on the window: “Hi! Hi there!” Dustmen bang the garbage cans on the back of their truck. A dog is barking fervently.
The neighbour across the street is watering his first floor window boxes with a hose, the water splashing every which way. Further down a popular song is blaring from the radio of construction workers who are repairing a balcony. The girls from next door ring the bell: “Can we come and say hello to the pussycats? Please, can we? Can we?” They dash through the house, scaring the cats into the cellar.
At night a lonely man whistles through the darkened street. The voices of three boys echo up from their swirling bicycles. A car door slams shut, then a front door. At the end of the street the main road is buzzing monotonously.
All that I cannot hear. Just the singing birds, the rustling of the wind in the trees.

No comments: