The sub-urbs, are not less urban, by any means (we have 'our own' Bed-Bath n Beyond, and Target, and a Whole Foods.)
Suburbs are just more peaceful, that's all.
The city-dweller's buzz is gone from the mind, and the quiet of a loosely connected set of houses wafts through.
Apartments in the city lack space.....closet space at least.
Houses in the burbs are spaces galore....spaces enclosed in walls, called square footage, and spaces flowing unbound from front yard, to back yard, to driveways, to tree-lined inner roads, to sparsely filled neighborhood parks.
Trees stand tall, and available, in full glory here.
Browning, pale, feeble leaves flutter to the ground, and stay there till raked into a mulch-bag by the big forky rake.
The lawn mower roars, in some yard, every morning.
Grass shines a verdant smile....there are not many mani-pedi stores here, but the green grass gets cropped every week.
I haven't seen many people, though I have looked into the big black eyes of many a does by now, and have had an umpteen lady bugs and beetles walk on my sandals kept outside to dry.
The rains have pounded on rooftops, whose symphony of pitter-patter I now hear....being closer to the roof, not sequestered on an ivory tower of a high rise, along the Hudson.
My kids : They don't now have to wait turns to run their fingers through washed, sanitized, uniformly fine and grey sand in an elevated sand-box.
They just run bare feet on soil full of worms, seeds and maybe deer and bird poo.
Their voices echo through the still empty rooms of the house, as does the sound of their footsteps stomping constantly up and down the wooden stairs.
And then they jam on the piano, croon to the highest pitch, squeal like never before, and clap with full gusto,
and their dad doesn't have to holler, "Hush...the neighbors will wake up."
We don't hear the neighbors, and we hope they don't hear us.
It's all quiet here, except the whistling of the winds sweeping through the lush canopies of the small, and big trees.
Suburbs are just more peaceful, that's all.
The city-dweller's buzz is gone from the mind, and the quiet of a loosely connected set of houses wafts through.
Apartments in the city lack space.....closet space at least.
Houses in the burbs are spaces galore....spaces enclosed in walls, called square footage, and spaces flowing unbound from front yard, to back yard, to driveways, to tree-lined inner roads, to sparsely filled neighborhood parks.
Trees stand tall, and available, in full glory here.
Browning, pale, feeble leaves flutter to the ground, and stay there till raked into a mulch-bag by the big forky rake.
The lawn mower roars, in some yard, every morning.
Grass shines a verdant smile....there are not many mani-pedi stores here, but the green grass gets cropped every week.
I haven't seen many people, though I have looked into the big black eyes of many a does by now, and have had an umpteen lady bugs and beetles walk on my sandals kept outside to dry.
The rains have pounded on rooftops, whose symphony of pitter-patter I now hear....being closer to the roof, not sequestered on an ivory tower of a high rise, along the Hudson.
My kids : They don't now have to wait turns to run their fingers through washed, sanitized, uniformly fine and grey sand in an elevated sand-box.
They just run bare feet on soil full of worms, seeds and maybe deer and bird poo.
Their voices echo through the still empty rooms of the house, as does the sound of their footsteps stomping constantly up and down the wooden stairs.
And then they jam on the piano, croon to the highest pitch, squeal like never before, and clap with full gusto,
and their dad doesn't have to holler, "Hush...the neighbors will wake up."
We don't hear the neighbors, and we hope they don't hear us.
It's all quiet here, except the whistling of the winds sweeping through the lush canopies of the small, and big trees.
