Sunday Night on Fifteenth* St.

My cheeks and fingers are cold from the brisk, evening breeze. I look up to the perfect blue sky and see the only robin that is singing. All of the other birds are tucking in for the night.  My bike ride is silent except for the almost silent hum of my tires. The houses on either side are all quiet with only a light in a few of the windows.  No dogs bark and the neighborhood is quiet.

I can smell the fresh coolness of spring and in this moment I know that all of this would have been missed from the seat of a car.



*Completely unrelated, but one day a few months ago I was sent into a tizzy when, for a moment, I doubted my knowledge of the English language.  All because I noticed that the sign at the crossroad next to our house said Fifthteenth St. I kind of want to steal the sign to see if the replacement would be corrected or if some sort of clerical error would make it through again.

Also completely unrelated, but because I can: