A walk from my house to the store
The curtain blows in an early spring breeze---
cats curled in front wanting sunshine.
The winter was so mild but still so long
and the body yearned to walk without a coat.
Deer pause in mid-graze as I pass the yard
of the apartments next door.
Deer are common as stray cats here
and though they are sweet
they garner little real attention
from those in this part of town.
We took their feeding and breeding grounds
so now we share our streets, yards
and gardens with them.
Sometimes i give them apples.
It is just fine with most.
Little puddles fill holes in the sidewalk.
Stepping over to keep my shoes dry,
I know soon I will miss one puddle,
the chilly water wetting my socks anyway.
A little water never hurt anyone.
I come to the light between the McDonalds and the liquor store,
pausing at the walk signal a bit timid here.
Nobody ever stops at this light.
I take my life in my hands every crossing.
Still yet-- I have to get there somehow.
I look left, right, watch the little man on the light blaze up bright.
Then, saying a little prayer, scoot quickly across--
a little thrill of victory when my feet touch the sidewalk.
I adjust my headphones,
Music playing or perhaps a podcast,
trickling in to my waiting ears.
I never go anywhere without my private sounds.
I love my carefully constructed playlists
or my podcasts--usually stories read by voice actors.
Sometimes by perky podcasters---their voices are soothing to me.
I walk quickly. I have always walked quickly.
Not much for strolling I like to make progress
no matter the reason--business or pleasure--
I like my feet to march ahead,
confident in their pace and placing upon the sidewalk.
I go by the Sunoco where the little Indian man
always greets me with a friendly
“How are you ma'am?” in his lilting voice
while music plays overhead.
It is all unknown language and lovely sounds.
As I walk to my left I spy the great, messy expanse of construction equipment,
dirt and straw that is the new Switchyard Park,
where they had a grand opening a few months ago--tempting us--
then closed it back up.
I want to cross the dirt anyway
but i will be patient.
I am excited about the ease of access
this affords me--a foot and bike commuter--
To the safety and ease of the B-line.
I take the side street to separate
from the loud, busy noise of walnut street.
There are little houses, old trailers and the gun shop here.
I rarely see any people.
The sidewalk is a bit rough so i take the little road instead.
I progress by the building that used to be the cigarette store
for a long time with a discount TV shop next door.
I can never keep up with the changing tides of business
in this part of the street.
They come and go like party guests.
Some overstay their welcome but all go eventually.
Turning left and there is the large yard of city buses
and the bus station where tired drivers go to have more coffee,
probably griping about this or that rider---
“Can you believe that guy? Some people. Pass the creamer.”
Now before me is the great bridge of the B-line Trail.
The whole trail is a masterpiece of urban artistic expression.
I remember when they were building that
(big messy construction like switchyard now)
When they finally finished I was so excited,
I took out my bike and rode it purposely one end to the other and back,
so I could see all of it.
Now the junkyard where cars sit neglected,
They patiently wait to be wanted and needed--
given a makeover--so they are useful again.
I used to come here to get bits and pieces
for my old cars.
Inside is littered with old parts---
headlights, batteries, other parts
that a mechanic would recognize but I have no idea.
There is an interesting man with a long beard
and many stories to tell I am sure.
It seems junkyards specialize in this type of person.
The day is getting a bit long in the tooth.
It is time to get my shopping done and return home.
Entering the store and turning up the sound on my headphones,
I go to get what I need.
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