It's a beautiful fall

When Martha moved in late summer, we talked carefully when we were out in our back yards; I was white and I knew I had to work harder if we were going to be friends. And I courted her children. It was easy, they were young and open to the world; they accepted me with enthusiasm. I found them delightful.

When I came home from work and walked from the garage on the alley up to my backdoor, I always lingered at the garden and breathed it in. I was there one day when I noticed Martha’s son, Prince, in the back yard of their house.

“I have something to show you!” I called out. He crossed shyly into my yard. I held out a bouquet of dry poppy seed pods, still on their long stems. I shook them and we heard the soft sound of tiny seeds shifting in the pods. Some of the fine black seeds sprayed out, dusting my pastel dress. He gasped and eagerly reached for the pods.

“Mom! Mom!” he shouted as he dashed back to his own yard, his treasures softly rattling in his hand. The back door to their house slammed behind him. Soon, he returned to my yard exclaiming, “The sound they make is wonderful!” I helped him gather more of the wondrous pods.

Later in the week, the fall rains began. I took a walk during a light drizzle. As I crossed the street, six girls on roller blades rumbled gracefully toward me over the glistening pavement. Brown girls, tan girls, beaded braids flying out, they parted to go around me like a bubbling brook that had been split by a boulder. They shrieked and competed for positions behind the leading girl.

Farther on, I passed a black woman and a toddler huddled under the awning over the front steps of their house. A car pulled over to the curb and parked. A white woman got out and called, “Hi Jesse! I brought your cousin to see you.” The woman on the steps greeted her and waved, the little boy next to her stamped his feet. The driver walked around the car, opened a door, and brought out a tiny, dark girl. She set her on unsteady legs and said, “That’s your cousin Jesse, Merissa. Say hello to your cousin.” Merissa swayed, stabilized, and looked across the lawn to Jesse. She gurgled and bounced excitedly.

The next day was dry, burnished autumn. I was writing in the upstairs bedroom of my house when something small and white danced across the porch roof of Martha’s house next door. Birds? Butterflies? I looked more closely. Prince, crouched on the roof, was releasing pieces of paper into the wind. He watched intently as the air currents carried them. I was as captivated by his experiment in aerodynamics as he.

I didn’t want to leave my neighborhood. I didn’t want to leave all the beauty.