Houses have eyes. From my window I can see life in the vacant lot across the street.Skip to next paragraph
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Peasant women in bright clothes free their donkeys and let them eat weeds that stand above the snow. The women build a fire to warm their hands.
Students cut across the lot, their neat black coats setting off black hair and eyes and mustaches.
Last summer this lot held a house and garden with a fountain and a rose blooming. I could see, then, only one old man, reading behind a high fence. The city grows.
I will not mourn the old days. As one era passes, another is born.