Little Voices
Just as there are seasons of the suburban street — the rumble of school buses in the fall; the melody of ice cream trucks in the summer — so too is there a life cycle over time — the years of baby cries, followed by those of bicycle tires slapping the pavement, of squeals and yells and parents calling and yesterday (I don’t know from where but I heard it) a dinner bell.
For years our street has been quiet. Our children were some of the youngest on the block and when the older kids of neighboring families moved out our kids were left behind to make their own fun.
Now a new generation is on the rise. Boys on bikes, girls on scooters, babies in prams. It makes me feel old — and young — at the same time.
