You know about the other neighbor–Jerry Garcia, I refer to him mockingly. But I haven’t written about the neighbor on the other side.
It’s just past sunset and cooling down in Palo Alto. The patio is quiet and dark; I can just make out the bright green coleus and the white roses, but the darker plants have receded into the night. Talk radio mutters softly as a backdrop while I pick away at revising an essay, gently unraveling rows of stitches and then weaving the cloth together again.
Somewhere in the back of my consciousness I hear a jazz saxaphone start its scales–not loud, but memory-soft. Up it climbs, very delicately, a cat picking its way across a fence. Then the sound descends in a rush, like a leap to the ground.
I turn off the radio and keep revising. The sax begins gently riffing against the twilight, sometimes in languid sound circles, sometimes in urgent but muted cries. In counterpoint I hear the clicking of my keyboard and the susurration of wheels on asphalt on the road outside our house.
It is all too beautiful; I have to surrender. I close my file and sit in the well of light in my office, hearing the good neighbor welcome the night.
Posted on this day, other years:
- 50 is the new 50 - 2007
- Hiatus of a summer's eve - 2006
Wow! Here I am at work doing my daily check of Bloglines to stay “up to date” and on top of all information as I’m driven to do. You are in my aggregator and there sits your beautiful post about the sax player next door. In my “revved-up” morning state, a sense of calm overcomes me as I’m transported to that scene from last night. Thanks for your beautiful writing style and giving me a moment of peace on this Wednesday morning. It was meant to be as I’ve been working on surrendering my stress and compulsive ways to allow more serenity into my workday. Bless you!