Suburbia
Knock knock! That sounds like a woodpecker, but I don’t see any trees. It’s just before dawn and I’m barely awake. Then a voice startles me, “Keep that dog off the grass.” Suddenly I notice bitter rage replacing my natural tranquility. I feel instant resentment at the person behind the voice, lurking somewhere in the shadows of their pristine suburban prison. Don’t go there, I think. Unhappiness is contagious. Besides what might be buried beneath that green, green grass, afraid to be tickled by the tread of little doggie paws? Those mornings when I stumble upon a miserly fellow being, I pray for the divine grace to respond only with gratitude.
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