editorA METROPOLITAN SPRINGTIME

Awoke this morning to the sound of the neighborhood woodpecker announcing his return. He seemed pretty serious about it too. Stepped outside and breathed in the fresh air. Hello chipmunks, hello squirrels, hello little birds singing little bird songs. Walked to the edge of the yard and spotted my neighbor, Connie, walking Rookie, her frisky Pug.

Two cats chased each other through the brush beneath the trees that separate one home from the next. The beginnings of flowers poked their way up from the ground that recently held snow. I headed down the walk and caught the faint sound of a train off in the distance, whole notes from its deep and steady horn floating by on the wind.

Children were playing with a ball in the yard, a boy and a girl, laughing. A delivery truck stopped just ahead of me and I watched as the deliveryman gathered his material. We addressed one another in passing. I began to sing, humming a sequence of notes that were musically pleasing. A lovely young woman skimmed by on roller blades, the muscle of her inner thighs taut, while the sun, the glorious sun, followed our every move.

When I turned the corner and headed in the direction of the park I was nonplussed with the sudden aroma of fresh bread. From where did it come?  A metropolitan springtime. Upon return to our maisonette, I glanced up to observe The Sun King warming himself on the sill.

 Anthony Brancaleone