NEIGHBORHOOD

2: a district or locality, often with reference to its character or inhabitants

A walk through my neighborhood begins

The door closes quietly behind me
Earbuds tucked into ears
Turn the music on
Wait for a car, cross the street

I pass

A runner
A couple walking a dog
A woman just home from work, still in her skirt but with tennis shoes instead of heels, walking her dog
A couple on their way home from dinner passed by walking in the bike lane

Striding along, I glimpse houses

blinds drawn, fences locked tight that say, "Stay where you are"
windows in the door, light streaming through
brick red rooms, lime green walls, neutrals not worth noting
bars on the windows
porch lights on, swept clean and neat
dark entryways
well cared for, brightly painted
difficult to see through bushes grown high

I glimpse people

on their walk home from the grocery, bags in hand
striding
running
strolling
with electronics lighting their faces as they walk
a girl with limbs grown longer than she is used to walks carefully into a room carrying something
two houses over, a band sets up: microphone stands, guitars, people flit into my field of vision

My feet beat down on sidewalks

smooth white concrete
inlaid brick, the design pleasing to the eye, even in the dim streetlight
cracked concrete, pocked with weeds
overgrown and darkened, making me slow my pace

I see doors

thown open
shut tight
full of windows
with a half window framed in green, the clear center wavy and thick like a coca-cola bottle
red, with three tiny windows set high

I ponder

What does the door to my soul look like? 
Does it let natural light in or keep others firmly on the other side? 
Are there locks, old with age, that require oil and grease to be slid open?

And then I am home, in this neighborhood of ours.  I stretch, I rest, I write.