It’s time
for my dog’s last walk of the day, sometime after 10pm. I head out onto 57th
Street in Elmhurst, Queens; a pretty busy street at most times of the day. It’s
quiet but not without sound. Cars drive by and I can hear the wet tires zoom
across the pavement. A bus rushes past me, squeaking and rattling as it reaches
its stop. A group of teenagers chat about school as they get on the bus, the
sound of exhaust hissing from the bus as the doors close and begins moving
again. As I walk I hear my dog’s tags rattle together. She huffs and puffs through
her stubby bulldog nose. I can hear the squishy sound of her tongue as she
licks her nose. She stops to sniff a pile of leaves, exhaling and inhaling in
short bursts, blowing the dead leaves away.
I turn the
corner away from the busy street. No cars or buses and it’s almost completely
quiet. As I listen more closely on the quieter street I hear the trees rustling
against each other as the wind blows through the branches. The wind picks up
and I feel it howling inside my hood, muffling everything else. The wind blows some
stray leaves around, they scratch across the sidewalk. I turn the block again
and back onto the busy street I live on. More cars rush by and the sound of the
wind and the leaves is drowned out by the traffic, but it’s still audible once
you've heard it.
