Archive for the ‘bench’ Tag

Fall in the front yard garden   Leave a comment

I love the changing of the season for this neighborhood tree and the newly planted ginko losing its bright yellow leaves, across the street. The mums growing low to the earth, propped up with a repurposed stake, by an unknown Urban Farmer, seem to bloom until the dark gray weather of winter arrives. Winter hasn’t arrived and it’s unseasonably and unreasonably warm weather for San Francisco, California, even for the ‘Sunny Mission’. The bench top shows and still the homemade trellis’.

One of the winter squash seeds I planted, this is the first year from seed for my neighborhood, is poking up through the soil.  I feel like the farmer that goes out to pull the corns ears to make them grow faster, but for me, the Urban Front Yard Garden Farmer, “it’s making sure the plants are alive, showing signs of growing and feeling the responsibility of feeding others.” The neighbors are asking questions, seeds they muse, obviously doubting, so it’s important to me that it not fail.

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I watched decisons being made   Leave a comment

The sun was shining, the wind was blowing briskly, a warm, hair moving wind. I went outside earlier than my meeting time and sat on the bench under the tree to wait.

As I looked down the street to the west, there sat 2  young men; teens that  I have known since they were in elementary school. They sat on the stoop of a house on the block, not in school.  They both know me, as I know them, not by name, but by sight.  The shorter, chubbier boy saw me first.  He tried to be subtle while telling the other, getting skinnier boy, that I was sitting on the bench.

I thought about averting my eyes letting them have their public privacy, maybe going inside my house, so as not to imprint this scene, unfolding before my eyes on my brain, but I watched. They looked up often, to see me watch them.  The chubby boy, said something to the getting skinnier boy, he glanced at me and shrugged.

I wished to see just one of the women that I know is attached to or that knows these young men.  I imagined I would motion to her with my head, while looking into her eyes, as we sometimes do, acknowledging each other without words; I would motion towards the young men. I imagined she, the woman would see what I was seeing and say something to them loudly, take them home,  get their mothers, do something. No woman came by and I watched decisions being made.

They finished doing what they were doing and walked away from me, I watched them turn the corner.