Place Entry 5

11:00 am

the corner at the end of my street (Atlanta, Georgia)

The first week of March and early in the day. It is 65 degrees already and the high, hot sun is freckling my face. I can feel its rays deeply. This southern sun radiates more powerfully in the spring than my Midwestern sun manages all summer. I am getting used to this.

I perch on the northeast curb. This is the safest spot to sit, as a constant stream of cars enters the intersection from the west and turns north. Face south: a road leading into an apartment complex. Face east: a dead end, its finality a cluster of pecan trees and dusty, overgrown grass. Face west: a brand new asphalt road snaking through a glittering new shopping complex. Face north: a neighborhood in the lurch. That's where I live-- a squat little duplex on the northeast side of the street. It is old, brick and has stood stoic through the changes as they've come.

The sun illuminates the dangerous snow of broken glass. It covers much of the street; I suspect the brand new, three-story condos across the street are the culprit. I wonder what got broken to make way for them.

I try to keep an eye out for critters in the red clay and glass. I haven't seen anything yet- not an ant or a palmetto. I wondered about the roaches- if they scuttled their way into town for the promise of garbage and warmth. I haven't seen one yet. Maybe they're hiding. Yellow-brown leaves, vestiges of the fall, still dance across the ground. When I lived in Savannah, Georgia no one raked their leaves. Perhaps they understood the futility of it. I liked to think they left them as an offering to the gods of spring. A brutal winter has destroyed the grass. The patch behind the sidewalk where I sit is urine yellow and brittle as aged bones. I run my fingers across it- it bites at me and swirls dust into the air.

Finally, I notice a brown moth. He is crawling across the ground slowly. I wonder about his species and why he isn't flying. I stand up from the curb and dust myself off. I bid adieu to the meandering moth and head north up the hill to my new home.