The smell of elm trees lingers in the evening air as I walk down a familiar street. The green-crowned canopy sags, laden with the good night songs of birds calling their day to an end. The sky radiates brushes of oranges and purples while the flights of birds coming to roost dot the evening canvas.
It had only been a few hours since the sun had beaten so hard on the vast concrete, our playground as kids. Our neighborhood took form from its residents. It breathed through gardens and sang its happiness through our birds. It was a living and breathing habitat that only required one thing from us—to care.
As I pedaled my bike across street blocks, garden after garden would pass my surveying eyes, moments of deep green with bursts of reds and yellows in harmonic rows. Another gala of colors would grab my attention within another yard, the powerful purples mixed with humble blues. The sudden dart here and there of what looked seemed a brown cotton ball. I brake my banana-seated bike to a stop and catch the tender melody cascading through the air. The song would quickly change into another in the next yard and then return back to the one I was observing.
I begin to see that my untrained eye must have patience, but I did have more exploring to do down by the Los Angeles River channel. Water emerges from a small foundation nearby, creating a blanket of peace with every gurgle. The ground around it is surrounded by buttons of small pinks flowers blooming even stronger as the melody grows louder. I find myself seated under the umbrella of a lemon tree that spills onto the sidewalk. The shelter it provides allows my body to cool down from the summer heat and enjoy the quiet moments displaying before my senses.
I feel the subtle breeze that carries the coolness of the foundation’s water onto my face. I smile in confirmation. I am welcomed here, at this very moment. My senses are heightening, another deep but short sound is well hidden with the lemon tree itself. I tilt my head slowly to the right and smile to see two eyes transfixed on me. My smile widens, and a small giggle burst with glee to see that patience, brought me a friend.
An adventure is what my heart cries to me, not in the local Los Angeles River channel but in my neighbors’ gardens.
Greatness fills my purpose to see what other things and plants I see in my neighbors’ yards. What else can I discover? What other song can I carry in my heart this day? My legs bring me to a quick spring upward. I bow to my new bird friend, thanking him for his quick friendship and hope we meet again.
As my bike leads me onto the next block, I noticed the street to my left has hardly any sunlight coming unto the concrete. My curious feet take charge to seek what feels so different and yet comfortable. I wanted to be a part of that street and explore the meaning of its enchanted stillness. How could this street which was just a few blocks away from my house be so different? What made it different and what were those sounds?
My head turned upwards to study why the sun could not be felt here. The street was hugged by the top crowns of the trees. I simply saw green with deep brown branches reaching onto one another as if holding hands. Small movements began to catch my eyes within the branches. Finding a patch of grass felt so cool on my skin. I sat down to better watch these jumping beans in the trees.
The wind picked up again. But this time, as I watched the crowns of the trees sway left to right, I was swept away with the mighty strength of those trees. The sounds of the branches brushing and colliding with one another etched in my mind a deeper sense of awe and respect for what I was seeing. I paid closer attention to the tree near me and how its top crown not only covered the street but the house near it as well. How old could this tree be? Does its trunk covered with deep rows varying in browns means its sick? I dare not touch the trunk in case I caught whatever plagued it.
