A Short Walk

Walking around our neighborhood has been one of my favorite things to do in New York. Each step has felt new and fresh and I have loved everything around me. The trees here have missing branches to allow the power lines to run through. Squirrels scurry along them and hop from tree to tree. The lush, green trees turned to trees bursting with colors and eventually were bare in the perfectly white snow. They are the types of trees that are perfect to hang a tire swing from -- strong and sturdy. The kind that have more than enough leaves to form a large pile of leaves to leap into.

I love the tight streets lined with gorgeous, quaint houses, American dream houses. Each with a lantern and a mailbox. And each with its own perfect tree. Michelle has always taken particular notice of the houses' colorful doors. Our first stop on our little walk is the neighborhood mailbox. I've taken many walks to it. I was giddy when I first saw it. I found it completely charming. I've never been anywhere with so many of those blue mailboxes. They are everywhere in New York as if saying, "Go ahead, write a letter to someone you love. I'll be here waiting." So I would think of anyone I could write a letter to and take a weekly walk to the mailbox to drop them off.

The next stop on our usual walk is the golf course at the end of the road. I love walking along its crooked golf cart paths, then reaching a tree in the middle of all the grass. A bench sits beneath it. I've taken a picture of it in each season and thus call it the Season Tree. It's become a personal, quiet thing for me. Often times I have wandered there alone. I spend my time breathing the air and floating through thoughts. That tree has been a pause for me even when the world has spun a little too quickly. After taking pictures and strolling through the golf course we head back home.

We stroll back to that little, yellow house on the corner. My favorite place in all of New York. I love its wood floors, french doors, pretty doorknobs, funny half bath, its screen doors that indicate when someone is home, its specific lock on the front door, and that comfy couch that sits in the living room next to where the babies play. Walking up the stairs has become a dance when the babies are sleeping. They creak and finding the most quiet steps has become routine. I love the room that I have been able to call my own. It's connected to a sunroom where it allows the sound of traffic to rush in and soothe like a running river. I sometimes spend nights just looking at the car lights.


Of all the things I love about this house, I love the little family it holds the most. I've felt so honored to be a part of it. I've been able to be a part of the routine and the laughter and the smiles and even the heartaches. I've been incredibly blessed to spend these last seven months so closely to people I love more than words can express. It's been the best seven months of my life. We have been best friends, awkward dancers, bee smashers, saying slayers, synchronized sisters and a true family.

This short walk has meant everything to me. It has changed my life and changed my heart. I have felt so much joy, light, hope, and love. Thank you New York for each footstep I have taken. You have breathed new life into me. I can see clearer now and my heart is so full. But mostly, thank you Michelle, Danny, Lincoln, and Sophie for walking with me. I have loved each step and will cherish it all forever.