Another walk through the neighborhood, later than yesterday’s jaunt. I had my phone this time. I thought of Puccini again and her recent obsession with windows. Then, I remembered that she had been on the streets before she was found. Who knows for how long? I imagined her walking down the lane, low to the ground, close to the curb.
More people were out. It’s Friday and the start of a holiday weekend. I turned onto one of the side streets of the development that I had never ventured down before. Big houses. Spacious yards. I spied a stop sign up ahead that I would turn around at, but darkness descended quickly, suddenly. I retraced my steps to go home as a little bit of fear crept over me.
Why be afraid? I had not even left the neighborhood. Would Puccini have been afraid? I don’t think so. She would have noticed…
The change in atmosphere…
Lights smaller and brighter…
Moving shadows…
The drop in temperature…
The different smells of each property, wet grass and mulch segueing to a mix of citronella and chlorine from a poolside…
The chirps of birds and crickets…
She may have had a familiar spot that she returned to time and again until she was brought into safety.
Passing time caring for critters.
Creating while they nap.
