The
tranquil sound of water falling into the pond,
Birds
sing their songs as do the chipmunks,
The
trees’ shrill, sweeping whisper add to the harmony
From
time to time a car passes by
Children
play in the street,
Basketball,
Frisbee and the occasional game of street baseball.
The
man to the left of us mows his lawn,
To
the right a significantly older man works intently on his old mustang.
I
watch and listen to the sound,
The
thousands of tiny beats come together to form a song.
Everyone
on this thin strip of land is connected,
We
sing to our tunes like a chapel choir.
This
is the song of Timber Lane.
My street,
My home.
