I’m looking out the window from my seat behind our desk in the music room. It’s a sunny day in Florida today, and I can see a breeze rustling through the leaves of the tree (Piper’s favorite) just beyond the window pane. There is a shiny steel blue car parked in front of the blue apartments across the alleyway. One of our neighbors is sweeping up leaves and debris around his yard. He works outside almost every morning with a zenlike presence. His yard is clean and green. Sometimes we see a lone ibis or a trio of ducks walk through, but more often it is a place of quiet and calm.
The usual dog walkers seem to have already made their morning rounds. The alleyway is unusually empty at the moment. The morning commuters must already be at work; all the dogs back home, relieved for now. My attention shifts to a bit of wall that juts out from the side of our house, just enough for me to see the shadows and light that are flickering on its wood panels. I begin to notice light everywhere — streaked across the apartments, and then spread like a bright blanket across my neighbor’s lawn. Suddenly, I want to have a picnic lunch by the lake. Suddenly, I want to slip on our shoes and head out the door on our walk to the library.
Here we go —