If I'd been in a car, I wouldn't have heard the sound of voices. At first it sounded like a carol, then a choir. From my church'd childhood, I immediately looked for the chapel, the taste of sour coffee and stale cookies filling my mouth. But, on the dark sidewalk, all I saw was a long driveway leading to one of the many, rambling, Craftsman houses that line Silver Lake's streets.
I paused on my walk to downhill to the bar, appreciating the sound of voices harmonizing, and the fact that I was in a tank top in late April after the sun had set, that I was on my way to see a friend and catch up over a glass of great wine. I tried to capture the sound of song via the video on my phone, but with all the ambient noise of the neighborhood, it's difficult to hear.
As I continued down the hill, the choir fading, I saw shadows beneath the trees, people sleeping on the dark side of the street, the sound of the traffic on Sunset their choir. I was reminded of the Anderson Cooper report — of how it costs us less as tax payers to provide homes for the homeless. And how lucky I am to have a home, a friend to meet. And how my work is to be aware, present with what is, yet fighting to change systems to create a more connected life.
And my job is to stop to listen to the music around me. Happily car-free.
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