On the Street Where I Live

Remember that song, “On the Street Where You Live”, from the Broadway Musical, “My Fair Lady”? I recall the recording of it made by Vic Damone. I truly enjoyed that song and,of course, memorized it and sang along. My street is dear to me for a slightly different reason than Vic’s. Of course, when I turn into the shady driveway, it gives me a feeling of coming home, and it is a quiet street, but it’s also a street of friendly neighbors and easily accessible by my family.

Yesterday, Peg came over with a handful of mail which the carrier had mistakenly put in her box. She sat down and we visited for a bit about books and writing and the importance of editing. Later, Matt dropped in after work for a quick hello. And, now and then a small, four-footed visitor comes by for a visit and a snack.

I don’t know where Mr. Gray and White comes from. I’ve watched him grow up from a young fellow into a robust adult–well, not so robust, because he’s very busy and walks a lot and I don’t know where, besides my front porch, he finds his meals. He’s the chatty type and, from the moment he sees me, begins talking. Problem is, I don’t understand his language. He probably doesn’t understand mine, but he does approve of the crunchy kitty food that I shake into his bowl.

This morning, the sun tips the treetops of newly-leafed trees; the lawns are still mostly in early morning shadow, and the only sounds I hear are birds and the far-off zing of tires on I-540. It’s a pleasant street, a peaceful, happy street; and, I wouldn’t want to live on any other.