The Writers' Circle

I live in a typical neighborhood. A tree lined street with charming, albeit even quaint brick homes. It's a quiet street, with a well-kept median to divide it. In the morning you hear the birds and squirrels as they sing and chant to each other.

 I have older neighbors; most are seniors, with a couple of exceptions including myself, a single, forty-something woman. My neighbor to the north is not someone I know well; as a matter of fact I have never spoken to him, ever. I do know things about him, though. 

Like.he gardens. He prefers roses to petunias. He gets up early and he drinks coffee. And I know he wears boxers! How you might ask? Because he gardens in them, and only them, every morning around seven. I, quite frankly know more about him than I really cared to. I would probably know less if I really knew him.

I recently moved to this area from New Mexico. My home there had a view, too. Of  the serene desert landscape and the Organ Mountains from every window. When I sold my home and moved here, I took a long-term lease on a house while I got familiar with the area.

 	My landlord never mentioned a "view". She told me the backyard was fenced; it had washer and dryer connections, one bathroom and lots of sun from the many windows. I took my time setting up my home-making curtains, painting that one bathroom, finding just the right pictures to hang on the wall.

 	Imagine my surprise as I took down the blinds (I am not a fan of these ugly things) early one spring morning to discover I had a "view"! Talk about your Kodak moments! My first thought was, now that's attractive, not! Unfortunately for me, my CuisinArt sits just under that window because it won't fit anywhere else in kitchen. My second thought, well, was at least he's a great gardener! So trust me when I say, "There is no view like the view from my kitchen"!