Walking at Night / Coming Home
I took a stroll around my neighborhood around 9:30 tonight. It’s quiet and dark, and, I assume, safe. I mean no one ever hears of gangs of marauding upper-middle class kids roaming the streets here. But it could happen. The town has a little of the feeling of those resort towns Beth and I used to go to when we traveled. Everything is closed now except the Chinese restaurant. I should find out if it’s any good.
Once in a while, like during tonight’s walk, I miss Beth. I miss the woman I used to walk with on summer nights in the seaside resort towns of New England and Canada.
Reminded me of this part of Tower of Song:
I see you standing on the other side
I don’t know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We’ll never have to lose it again
I turned the corner down my street.
It’s a dirt road, really, not even gravel. The first 50 feet of the street is wide enough for a single car and runs right next to Old Man Wheeler’s house. Then it widens up, and the street is still dirt, but it looks more like a clearing than a street.
But even at that point you can’t see my house because it’s hidden by my neighbor’s hedges. You walk on a little, and there it is. A little white house with yellow lights on the back porch, and the glow of lamps in the skylights, nestled in a little cove at the end of the street. Quiet, alone, inviting, and serene.