She cups two hands around her mouth as we drive by, and I hear her voice through the open window, tank top stuck sweaty to my back: “I’ve got popsicles – come down!”
The boys jump out of the mini-van before I even turn the engine off. They skip up the sidewalk to the green house with the red chili pepper lights and plunk onto the front porch steps next to Oliver the orange cat.
“What color?” she asks, screen door snapping shut as she fans a rainbow. The boys mull like it’s the first time, every time.
By the time I reach the steps, all three slurp sweet ice from frigid plastic. We sit quietly, waiting to see if the downy woodpecker will cling to the suet feeder, if a hummingbird will swoop toward the scarlet globe and hover there like a giant bumble bee.
When they’re done, the boys slip the limp sheaths into the empty flower pot in the corner and lick sticky fingers clean. Rowan might hurl the plastic blue boomerang across the street once or twice. Noah might sprawl on the sidewalk, stroke Oliver’s fur warm from the sun.
Then they’ll scamper down the sidewalk while I linger, flip flops abandoned on the worn wood, bare feet tucked under the floral cushion, in the breezy shade of the front porch.
How are you enjoying community with your neighbors these days?
