The other day I was in Harlem over at Nana’s house hanging with her for a bit when I looked out the kitchen window and was struck by the beauty of the view of the back park and the turning of the leaves. This is the same 15th floor view that I grew up with so I’ve seen it all my life but it’s been quite a while since I really looked at it.
On this rainy day I remembered being a kid and always in awe over how Nana could yell so clearly from so hi up and make her voice carry that far down to tell me it was time to come in. Her voice one of so many woman with their eyes peering keeping careful watch of the children in their care. Playtime over. Must come in before the streetlights come one. Besides dinner’s ready and we’re hungry. The old back park has been remolded a few times over since I was a kid playing kick the can, but the heart of it is still the same I’d guess. Well at least I hope.