Stoops

I sat on my stoop last Friday, with a cup of coffee from the coffee shop down the street, “Good to see you, my dear,” she said as she passed me the cup. Soft and steady and without needing a response. A warm morning, summer steady on spring’s heels already, my favorite season in this neighborhood. Open car windows and 90s hip-hop and the trees with tiny leaves, we’re all emerging again. These blue-cracked-paint steps and a tiny promise to sit here on summer mornings, sipping coffee, letting the sun warm me, letting my neighborhood warm me. With gratitude for a summer without a 9am office time clock. And last Friday, with gratitude for the black car that rolled up with the window down and a life-force smile. With gratitude for the second cup of coffee from the coffee shop. “Black please, I’ll add the sugar.”