Sitting in the way way back of their old, clunky station wagon, I watched the world go by. The best was when we’d come to a stop at an intersection with an extra long light. Green … then yellow … then red. Red lights, I’d come to understand, made for some of the best world-watching around.
I waved at the people riding in the cars behind us and found nothing particularly awkward about it … I’d just keep right on smiling and waving until the light changed again. I’d watch families cross the street together, dressed in their Sunday best and holding hands as they scurried down the road toward church. You could hear the church bells even above the car’s radio – another perk of being in the way way back. I loved their happy sound … it always seemed like someone had just gotten married. I’d see couples arguing and couples laughing, people watering their gardens and watching cartoons inside their living rooms, dogs being walked and kids learning how to ride their bikes. You could see it all from back there, the whole world.
One day, just as the car was taking off again (the light having turned green once more), I caught glimpse of a large amber-colored jar of something perched on a front porch stoop. It looked funny sitting there all by itself.
“Wait! No, hold on! What’s in that jar there on those people’s porch?” I asked.
“Oh that? That’s just some sun tea. Continue reading