A few weeks ago,
on a Monday morning . . .
I stood at the window, a coffee cup cradled in my hands, staring at the neighborhood. Things were abnormally quiet for a sunny summer day. The birds chirped happily from the branches of the tree in my front yard and squirrels chased each other around its trunk. Both oblivious to the tension. The neighborhood dogs were silent, a relief from their mournful howling that began last Thursday evening and didn’t stop until 1 a.m. Sunday morning. All the other houses up and down the street felt subdued, only the occasional dark shape of someone looking out a window showed there was life inside the homes.
That Fateful Sunday . . .
The neighborhood woke and discovered it wasn’t a normal lazy weekend morning. I was making a pot of coffee when my mom anxiously called to come look out the window. When I peered out the basement window there were three sheriffs cars, two unmarked cars, a Crime Scene Unit truck, and three Animal Control Vehicles. It wasn’t long before the cops noticed the neighborhood stirring. They strung crime scene tape from the blue house, across the road, up the hill past two houses, back across the street, around a neighbor’s mailbox and then diagonally across their yard back to the blue house. A few minutes after that a fire truck and an ambulance arrived adding to the chaos. A detective went door to door asking if we’d heard or seen anything unusual. He wouldn’t tell us what had happened except to say they had arrested the man who owned the home early Sunday morning. Continue reading “Seasons Of Change”