Better
It was after nine-o'clock last night, maybe even closer to ten. Still warm enough out to have the sliding door open to the outside air, outside sounds. A couple kids were riding their bikes back and forth along the paseo, their talking less distinct than the hum and chatter of their freewheels. Speaking of one of the shadowy riders Tamera says, "oh, I know who that is. His mom is the competitive cyclist." My surprised exclamation "oh, really?" is feigned, as she has mentioned this particular neighbor before.
Same day, earlier hour, I am out on the patio, puttering around, not quite sure what to do with the time, my second woodworking project of the year having been completed (though still not hung). I notice the garage door open across the street. There is a chair at the driveway, and a bike neither, at the moment, occupied. Over the past week or two I have seen the bike there multiple times, I have seen the bike's owner kick off into the street. The people have lived there for years, but never have I seen anyone riding away from the house pre-COVID-19.
Other neighbors, two doors down, hop on their bikes and ride down the street on some errand, perhaps a trip to the grocery store. It is the second time in the week that I have seen them do so. Two doors down, the other direction, another bike sits outside the closed garage door. The bike is unlocked and, but for my eyes, unwatched.
It is the late morning, and the clock will soon click over into a fine Spring-time, sunny afternoon. After their morning foraging, the neighborhood birds have settled down and it is, mostly quiet. A baby cries nearby. Some kids are playing. An annoying electric leaf blower sends a cloud of dust into the air. A young family pulls out from a court across the way - two bikes, one pulling a trailer. The husband/father out front, the wife/mother following behind. There is some concern noticeable in her voice as she calls out, "maybe you should practice stopping." I take her plea to mean that this is their first time out with the trailer, and are getting used to how a bike handles with the added weight in tow.
Walking through the nearby park, really just a big grassy open space, ringed by large shade trees, the unmistakable soft thud of ball on bat reaches my ears, accompanied by calls of joy. A father and two daughters playing an afternoon pick-up game. I notice the usual pairs, of single walkers trodding the perimeter sidewalk, by my eyes are drawn to the three bicycles parked by one of the benches, upon which sits an open lunchbox overflowing with snacks and drinks. There are three bikes, matching the number of softball players, the colorful cruisers seeming to match the personalities of the batter, pitcher, and fielder.
The walk continues past another park, quiet now, the playground taped off, the soccer field off limits. A small cluster of maintenance workers lounge in the shade, or sun, as each sees fit, enjoying their lunch hour. A lone woman sits on the grass surrounded by the white blossoms of clover. There is no bike around, that I can see, but there is no car either, and I assume she walked over from a nearby house. A sun hat on her head, the scene looks impossibly serene. Her arm movements make it look like she is pulling a needle and thread, but I can't be sure; perhaps she is just picking clover. I could walk into her peripheral line of sight for a better view, but don't want to disturb the peacefulness of the moment, so I snap a quick photo from behind and journey onward.
People wonder how things will change once the pandemic has run its course, played out. People wonder if and when, things will return to the way they were, and all that accompanies it - the rush, the hustle, the bustle. Some people believe it will be months, a year, maybe even longer. For my part and, though not by choice, I think it will be quick - but do you really believe this "slowing down," this "local focus" isn't better?
Same day, earlier hour, I am out on the patio, puttering around, not quite sure what to do with the time, my second woodworking project of the year having been completed (though still not hung). I notice the garage door open across the street. There is a chair at the driveway, and a bike neither, at the moment, occupied. Over the past week or two I have seen the bike there multiple times, I have seen the bike's owner kick off into the street. The people have lived there for years, but never have I seen anyone riding away from the house pre-COVID-19.
Other neighbors, two doors down, hop on their bikes and ride down the street on some errand, perhaps a trip to the grocery store. It is the second time in the week that I have seen them do so. Two doors down, the other direction, another bike sits outside the closed garage door. The bike is unlocked and, but for my eyes, unwatched.
It is the late morning, and the clock will soon click over into a fine Spring-time, sunny afternoon. After their morning foraging, the neighborhood birds have settled down and it is, mostly quiet. A baby cries nearby. Some kids are playing. An annoying electric leaf blower sends a cloud of dust into the air. A young family pulls out from a court across the way - two bikes, one pulling a trailer. The husband/father out front, the wife/mother following behind. There is some concern noticeable in her voice as she calls out, "maybe you should practice stopping." I take her plea to mean that this is their first time out with the trailer, and are getting used to how a bike handles with the added weight in tow.
Walking through the nearby park, really just a big grassy open space, ringed by large shade trees, the unmistakable soft thud of ball on bat reaches my ears, accompanied by calls of joy. A father and two daughters playing an afternoon pick-up game. I notice the usual pairs, of single walkers trodding the perimeter sidewalk, by my eyes are drawn to the three bicycles parked by one of the benches, upon which sits an open lunchbox overflowing with snacks and drinks. There are three bikes, matching the number of softball players, the colorful cruisers seeming to match the personalities of the batter, pitcher, and fielder.
The walk continues past another park, quiet now, the playground taped off, the soccer field off limits. A small cluster of maintenance workers lounge in the shade, or sun, as each sees fit, enjoying their lunch hour. A lone woman sits on the grass surrounded by the white blossoms of clover. There is no bike around, that I can see, but there is no car either, and I assume she walked over from a nearby house. A sun hat on her head, the scene looks impossibly serene. Her arm movements make it look like she is pulling a needle and thread, but I can't be sure; perhaps she is just picking clover. I could walk into her peripheral line of sight for a better view, but don't want to disturb the peacefulness of the moment, so I snap a quick photo from behind and journey onward.
People wonder how things will change once the pandemic has run its course, played out. People wonder if and when, things will return to the way they were, and all that accompanies it - the rush, the hustle, the bustle. Some people believe it will be months, a year, maybe even longer. For my part and, though not by choice, I think it will be quick - but do you really believe this "slowing down," this "local focus" isn't better?
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