Shabbat Walks Down LaVista

Lyrics

The sun is a line of rust on the horizon.
And the weekday noise just... gives up.
It lets go.
Listen.

It's October on LaVista Road.
The clock in the kitchen said 6:45.
The asphalt under my good shoes is cool.
Holding the last of the day's warmth.
You can smell the first leaf mulch from the yards on Merry Lane.
A sweet rot. A good ending.
The whole week ends right here, on this stretch of sidewalk.

And the Friday quiet finds the sidewalk.
A river of families, flowing east.
No horns, no rush, just the slip-slap of leather soles.
A low murmur of conversation, carrying a full block.
This is the other Toco Hills.
The one that walks.
The one that breathes together, for just an hour.

There's the Perlmans, their little girl in a velvet dress.
He's telling a story, his hands moving in the twilight.
She's holding her mother's hand so tight.
Some are heading for the big doors at Beth Jacob.
Others, the smaller lamp at Anshe S'fard.
The destination doesn't matter as much as the walking.
The shared direction.

And the Friday quiet finds the sidewalk.
A river of families, flowing east.
No horns, no rush, just the slip-slap of leather soles.
A low murmur of conversation, carrying a full block.
This is the other Toco Hills.
The one that walks.
The one that breathes together, for just an hour.

And up there, against the last of the blue,
is the line. The fishing line. The wire.
The boundary you can't see unless you're looking for it.
It says, "This space is a room. This walk is indoors."
It turns LaVista Road into a long hallway in our shared house.
All of us, carrying our week to the door.

And the Friday quiet finds the sidewalk.
A river of families, flowing east.
No horns, no rush, just the slip-slap of leather soles.
A low murmur of conversation, carrying a full block.
This is the other Toco Hills.
The one that walks.
The one that breathes together, for just an hour.

The light from Beth Jacob spills onto the grass.
A door opens, a burst of warmth and voices, and closes.
Another family disappears inside.
And then another.
Soon, the sidewalk is empty again.
Just you and me.
And the quiet.