Walking around my sunny neighborhood this morning, here is what I saw. A guy named Mike who used to live next door but now lives down the street a ways. We exchanged greetings and I asked about his little boy.
A bit further along I greeted an old Latino man, whose family wheels him into the morning sun. I said "Hi."
A bit later, Mike's wife came running out to the sidewalk, yelling "Mike, get some ... at the store."
I couldn't make out the word she said. Something like "wheat."
"Sorry," she said to me.
"Don't be sorry," I responded. "It's a neighborhood. It's communication."
Around the corner I passed a laundromat, where a little black puppy stood in the door and looked up at me in a friendly way. I smiled at him.
Later I passed neighbors trimming their hedges. And paused at intersections, letting cars pass rather than wait for a slow old man to shuffle in front of them.
On my way back, I saw the puppy again, now laying in the sun in front of the laundromat. As I passed, he raised his head and smiled at me.
I passed the old Latino man again, now standing with the help of his walker, and this time I said "Hola." He said "Hola."
As I reached my apartment I met the young couple who live upstairs with their little boy. The boy, who is around 2, showed me his new toy, a plastic garbage truck.
Then, I moved my car so that my next door neighbor could back a truck into the space in front of his building for some work.
Back inside I looked out back while doing my laundry, I saw two young artichokes growing and several white butterflies rising.
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