I got the keys to our new house today. It’s not a new house, built in 1960. It is ours and that is what counts.  I sat in this house today, listening to the strange sounds that will soon be familiar to me. The  sounds of the home we are leaving won’t be missed, only the memories it has constructed. Thirty years of  life within the walls absorbed  invisible ink, indelible  imprint and sound prints.

 

Eerie   two a.m. freight trains, dragons in the night. Sirens, planes, the local bus bleeping as it kneels to take on riders. The scooter posse buzzing down Palmer
Avenue heading for New Rochelle after the  closing the restaurants, racing home just before midnight.    Post-bar laughter and barking dogs four times a day.  Apartment living remembered but not missed.