Spring is one of my favorite times to live in the city. The windows get thrown open and the world enters my house again. I wake up to birds in the morning and the breeze in the trees. I cook dinner to the sounds of the kids playing next door. There are a few boys on my street who practice their skateboarding outside my house. I may not know what an "olly" is, but I know that middle school boys are pretty impressed with themselves when they achieve one. The teenage girl across the street devotes much loving attention to her motorcycle, and the most wonderful smells come out of my Cambodian neighbor's kitchen. On any given day I can hear five different languages being spoken outside my house.
At the same time, warm spring weather draws us all out of our houses again. Given the scarcity of large backyards in my neighborhood, many of my neighbors garden in their little front yards and our children all play on the sidewalks (the older ones in the street itself). The moms discuss dinner plans in the afternoon, and the little old lady across the street enjoys her role as neighborhood grandma. At 90 she'll sit on the ground with my daughter Alessia to play with leaves and little rocks.
We're very lucky to have landed in this neighborhood, and I am especially reminded of that in spring.