#122
Here we are on Cedar St. A few blocks from home. The dog and I were up early at the cafe. He waits patiently at the counter, his eyes looking meek.
Barista: one iced coffee, and would you like a dog treat?
Me: I’m sure he would.
Earlier this morning, after I washed my face and put on my day clothes, I told the dog we were going to the “cafe”. A word he knows, he recognizes. A few minutes out the door, he doesn’t even need a leash, he knows the path. It’s always the same one.
The mornings here, now, they’re quiet. Serene in a way that I’ve not encountered in other places. Students have departed, those who can, flee the heat and the sun for cooler climates north or west. There is a meditative quality to being here, though, one that those who flee can’t find, don’t understand. The desert is quiet if you let it be.
On the walk back, we cross the park and take a different street than usual. The quietness is broken with Nirvana, I can hear it somewhere. A block down, two kids, maybe 11, in their front yard raking leaves, looking droll, muted, tired. Nirvana is blaring from a speaker. The oldest one has a ponytail, long red basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, and sneakers.
Me: what are you guys up to?
Kid: what’s it look like?
Me: got in trouble?
Kid: …
We keep walking, Nirvana changes into Soundgarden, and I wonder who taught these kids about these bands. I wonder where they found out about grunge? About Seattle. About the ’90s? I wonder what their day looks like after the yard is clear of leaves and their back inside? I wonder if they even care.
Later at home, the coffee is finished and I can feel the prickly heat settling in for the day. The dog, resting; his morning nap always on the cool stone floor. If I open the door, I can still hear the speaker — Foo Fighters.