Another Walk

The air was softer than it had been as I stumbled over the angled stones beneath my feet. I couldn’t scold them because I hold too much respect for the roots gnarling beneath them: they provide life to the decades old trees lining the walk beside the park.

I thought the same of the sounds diminishing the birds’ songs: The music bellowing from the open window of a passing car carrying the man singing above the rattling maracas that he holds tightly within his grip. The vagrant Chinese woman crossing the sidewalk while shouting passionately, in her native tongue, into the face of the invisible adversary walking beside me. And, of course, the startling screams from horns, and sirens, and the squeals from brakes, and the striking slams and bangs of metal against stone.

Yes, I hold all of them as closely as the first robin’s call because they comprise the diversity of the city that I love.

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