My home office has a large window looking out on the front lawn and beyond to the sidewalk and the bike lane and the street and the bike lane on the other and the far sidewalk.
For hours on end, I sit at my desk behind that window and gaze on the outside word as if watching from a cage at the zoo.
I ignore the cars. The vinyl dual-pane windows with their argon insulation block all of but the loudest cars. Even the RT buses that pass by each half-hour are easily ignored.
It's the traffic on two wheels and two feet that catches my attention.
The elderly couple who walk each day. The husband can barely shuffle his feet, his progress arduously slow. He leans heavily on his wife, who patiently waits on her husband.
A chocolate lab with an owner who walks him around the block twice and sometimes three times a day. Lucky dog.
The quick-walking retiree in a straw hat. He holds his arms bent at right angles at the elbow, pumping forward and back in time to his long strides. He travels from west to east and doesn't return for many minutes.
Pregnant women pass daily. There must be many in the neighborhood. Most walk alone or with a lady friend. Seldom are they accompanied by men.
Drivers stop and check directions under the five large evergreen trees that line sidewalk and shade the street. Unfortunately, SMUD's butchery in the name of power line safety has lopped the top of three trees, leaving the afternoon sun unhindered access to my south-facing window.
Teens from Mira Loma High School, which is just a few blocks down my street, parade by.
Today, I watch a boy walking away from school intently texting, oblivious to his surroundings.
A woman stops across the street and carries on an unheard conversation with someone unseen on my side of the street. The woman carries something in each hand. She holds one of the items up as a goodbye gesture and turns and walks away.
A female jogger runs on the sidewalk across the street. She is stylishly dressed in black with pink trim. Her blond ponytail swishing to and fro with each stride.
A woman talks on a cell phone as she walks briskly by my window. Places to go; people to see.
A man wearing a yellow ballcap over gray hair, a navy polo shirt and pink (he'd say coral) shorts walks by, headphones visible as wires falling out of his ears.
A man with gray hair, a blue t-shirt, brown slacks and an uneven gate enters my view. Is he recovering from some illness? He walks on.
Two Mira Loma students ride by on their way from school. Wearing helmets! What makes some kids so law-abiding and others so unwilling to follow the rules?
The man with gray hair and the uneven gate returns, rewinding his journey.
Carmichael Towing's Battery Service pickup truck parks under the trees. Recharging?
A Mira Loma student rides toward school, a huge backpack threatening to unbalance his progress. No helmet.
A man and woman, both retirees, walk on the sidewalk under the tree branches. She leads. He follows, 10 paces behind. They are silent as they pass my window.
A man pedals a recumbent bike in one direction as a student from Mira Loma rides in the other.
A balding gentleman in a long sleeve red shirt, blue jeans and sneakers walks by.
A woman jogger dressed in baggy blue sweat shirt and orange shorts offers the counterpoint to the woman in stylish black and pink. Her short hair doesn't swish as she runs.
The balding gentleman returns, retracing his steps.
Across the street, a Mira Loma student walks home from school. He is wearing a sweater over shorts, ear buds dangling from his ears. The huge backpack he carries requires repositioning twice in the short distance he is in sight.
A 10-speed bike rider races by. No helmet. Then a Mira Loma student on a BMX bike heads in the other direction. He's wearing a helmet.
A Mira Loma student wearing long sleeve shirt and shorts runs toward school.
A woman wearing a ball cap and lime green top and white pants chats on cell phone as she walks.
At 4:13 p.m. it's getting dark. I don't like sitting behind the window when the office light is on. I don't want people to see me watching them. I don't want people to watch me.
I close the blinds and continue working.
