By Shellie Braverman
I live on a quiet block. A typically suburban block, really. Tall fences and even taller trees.
I’ve never described it as a quiet block before. It is a new observation. I never used to be home during the day to notice the quiet. Perhaps it is only quiet now, these recent days?
Every day at 5pm, I go for a walk around the block. I wear my failed attempt at “activewear” to ensure I’m following the rules. I never used to like rules. I somehow find the rules easy to like though, this time around. I decide not to think about what this means. There is a lot of time to think, these days. Sometimes, rules make you a better person. I wonder if I always thought this or if it’s new.
I am noticing things I have forgotten to see. Beautiful gardens. Flowers. So many birds. The patterns on people’s roofs. The things I stopped noticing in my dance routine with caffeine, traffic and noise.
I notice my noticing.
I notice other people noticing.
We look at each other as we walk in single file, mentally calculating the angles at which I must swerve to avoid one another’s bodies. Pythagoras would be heartened.
Space is at a premium now, yet we notice things beyond our own space for the first time in a long time.
There’s suddenly so much space, in this shrunken world of mine.