Up my street now-

I went for an evening bike ride.
The neighborhood is full of kids on their bikes and folks walking this evening.
When I am riding:
Little boys on bikes peddle faster to pass me, and look at me out of the corner of their eyes.
Women look down or away, but react thrilled when I say hello.
Men stop what they are doing to watch me bike past.
Little girls yell HI and wave.
HI Lady!
HI child!

There is a forgotten side street called Airport Drive. It’s a lollipop loop with a one lane escape to the main road. The Y has a treed island in it. Every kid on this street was out playing. They took turns on each others’ bikes. Their laughter was so loud, it was like screaming bloody murder. The parents puttered in the yards. A man was changing his oil. A couple was washing their car. Old dogs lounged tied up to some porches, stretchy cats made half hearted attempts at bugs on others. On those same porches were chattering conversations, in their own or across to others. And the laughter echoed off the train’s noise. Everyone looked out for everybody. Every child was cared for and chided by whomever was closest.
The houses have warped plywood for make shift patches. Tarps replace windows. Driveways are broken up, screens slashed, planters chipped and empty, mailboxes eschew. To listen- just to listen- to this isolated little street, it is the best neighborhood in Georgia.