Summer Evenings: The Glow of Community

Lyrics

The heat finally breaks on Greenwood Avenue.
The day gives a long sigh, and the asphalt gives up its ghosts.
A slow exhale from the whole block.
First one porch light clicks on, then another down the street.
A chain reaction of soft, yellow invitations.
The air gets thick, smells like cut grass and the honeysuckle spilling over the fence from Mrs. Carter's yard.
And far off, the scent of someone's charcoal grill.
This is the rhythm, the unspoken agreement we all signed.
The slow parade from porch swing to sidewalk.
It's the glow of community.
Not just the Edison bulbs strung over the railings, not just the fireflies starting to blink.
It's the warmth that hangs in the humid Atlanta air,
long after the sun is gone.
There go the St. Charles strollers, I see them every night.
A golden retriever pulling gently on the leash.
They're heading for the welcome noise and the light on North Highland.
The happy clatter of forks on plates drifting from the patios.
But we just sit here. You and me.
Watching the shadows of the hundred-year-old oak leaves dance on the cracked sidewalk.
Hearing our neighbor's laughter drift clear over from two doors down.
This is the rhythm, the unspoken agreement we all signed.
The slow parade from porch swing to sidewalk.
It's the glow of community.
Not just the Edison bulbs strung over the railings, not just the fireflies starting to blink.
It's the warmth that hangs in the humid Atlanta air,
long after the sun is gone.
Look at the streetlight down at the corner. See that?
The humidity makes a little halo around the bulb.
A small, strange, perfect miracle.
The ice in your sweet tea glass cracks.
A sound louder than the whole city for just one second.
This is all we really need, isn't it?
This square of light, this shared quiet.
The glow.
Just the glow.
Hanging in the air.
Long after the sun is gone.