21 Days From My Window
Outside my window today the street lies deserted. A stillness seeps into the atmosphere, and I sit here gazing in silent wonder. All the neighbors are gone as though some important business or Christmas sale has called them away in the early morning hours. There is an emptiness left behind, where their cars usually sit in the driveways and the street.
I see four barren trash barrels lying on their sides---empty, cold and dark. Discarded by the garbage men, they wait helplessly on the cold ground. An unruly tangle of pampas grass stirs faintly in a feeble breeze. The flag on the pole rouses only slightly as though snoring in his slumber; and the house with the second Bradford pear tree has added a lone, giant candy cane to the neighborhood’s festive Christmas décor.
The four trees stand silently, their branches twitching. There is a tension in the air, a sense of anticipation. Even the shadows across the lawn, the street and the rooftops stand perfectly still---waiting for something. The sun shines brightly, but the temperature is cool. Will winter wrap its chilly arms around us today, or will the sun be warm enough to hold him off for a while longer? I shiver, and turn my face away from the pane.
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