Night Walk
by Deborah Lee
Dusk.
The traffic lights turn from green to red on a silent street.
Houses with strings of white or multi-colored lights strike a whimsical mood.
A flag whips against its pole, the clanks louder than normal on this quiet boulevard.
"Oh!" I exclaim, as a bike comes silently from behind. "Sorry," as he pedals on by.
People peeking out from an upper window in a lighted room, a kitchen window in a house, an upstairs apartment.
Some keeping the front curtains open in their gently-lit house as they sit watching the rare sight of a pedestrian passing.
During recent sunny times, more hopscotch games than ever etched on the sidewalks, the chalk remaining for days and days.
Dark now.
Porch lights on.
A crooked mailbox.
A late lawnmower one street over.
"Happy Birthday!" rings out in multiple voices from a distant house.
Another chalked etching on a sidewalk: "Welcome Home Dad."
A night breeze picks up.
A bamboo wind chime clanks its woody beats.
A Dutch Colonial so brightly lit with spans of large white lights, ala New Orleans.
At a corner of the house's front yard, the large candytuft rosette emits its own bright white to the surrounding dimness.
A young woman on her phone, the two of us walking parallel across each other's respective sidewalk, her voice echoing words indistinguishable.
A plastic bag scuds and waves back and forth across the street, a beautiful sight just like the man in that movie said.
Is it because the breeze is gentle and soft and lovely?
The crunch of a pinecone under my foot.
The sweet scent of daphne caresses my nostrils in a whiff.
Night-blooming tulips will be bursting with color tomorrow, yes?
There is a large white dot in the sky.
Is it Venus, Polaris? Couldn't be Arcturus!
Orion's belt is to its left.
Home now, little solar lanterns lighting up the patio with color, our own string of whimsical.
The neighbor's TV is on, actors' voices in low blurry volume.
The air grows chilly.
Inside the house, I feel the night's rhythms around me still.
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