From our iiving room window, I saw a lean figure bending over a tangle  of branches that had been torn from our tree, possibly by the neighbor’s moving van.  I stepped out onto the porch and called to that neighbor, Ivan, who had followed through with his wife’s promise to come back for the debris.  He raised one hand, smiled, and turned back to the task of gathering the unwieldy mess to stow in the back of his pick-up.

His wife hopped from the passenger side and came around, smiling, her pale skin radiant.  I peered into the vehicle, but their lovely child didn’t seem to be with them.  We stood on the sidewalk, chatting, exchanging events of the last few days and news about their new house.  We gestured to the house they had just sold, and the one next to it, and the one on the other side of mine.  All occupied by new owners.  So much change.

She gave me a few tidbits of information for the new owner of their home, and asked me to pass them along. I promised to do so.  Then I mentioned my son’s impending departure for Evanston, his summer job search, his graduate program.  We stood silent for a few moments watching Ivan work.  She urged me to stop by their new home “whenever”.  I assured her that I would.  Ivan finished his task and slid into the driver’s seat, still quiet, still composed.  “Well all righty then,” Phyllis said.  “You take care,” I answered.  A few moments later, their truck disappeared down our block and I turned away, glancing about the yard, looking for any sign of more fallen branches.

Satisfied the yard was clear, I went back into the house, and closed the door.