It’s so quiet here during the day. Even when folks are mowing a lawn or using a chainsaw on their woodpile, the sound is never more than a distant drone, and certainly not nearly as loud as the weekend hum that accompanies life in Sunnyside, Queens. And at night, the darkness stays on the Poconos like a chaperone, only politely turning its head when the full moon insists. Day and night conspire together to lull me into an unhurried rhythm. I eat at strange hours, and awake later than usual.
By the time I shuffled out of the bedroom today and pulled back the blinds from the sliding glass doors and windows in the great room, the sunshine was doing that “look at me!” thing that never fails to make us smile. I acknowledged it by tugging on my running shoes and heading out for a slow recovery run through the neighborhood.
It was warm, too, but not so warm that the streets had begun to dry off from yesterday’s steady misting. I ran easily along a ribbon of shiny black asphalt, taking in the leaf-strewn woods on either side. There were the mountains, rising up brown, blunt and homely without their summer foliage. The neighbors’ dogs ran out to greet me, and for a few minutes I shared a court with a little boy riding his bike in circles. I felt the solitude, which I scooped up and put in my pockets to bring back to the city.