Two Men Walking a Baby

The sun is sliding gently into the breasts of mother West. The sky is not yet pink, but a bright yellow is washing the day away from the coddled masses. Two men walk while pushing a stroller. One is tall and bespectacled, the other white and thin. They stroll with a confident air, a calm surety. I cannot see the infant, but I can hear its gargling mingled with the gentle shoosh of the still clinging leaves. Cars pass by and the sound of their tires on pavement is a comfort and somehow the sound frames these two men with child. The sun dips a little further down and the pinks begin to hatch and multiply. The colors spread out and die as fast as they arrive. The two men are almost out of sight now, the kid’s gurgle no longer audible. The wind picks up a little. The trees sway and block the streetlights. It is a night for shirtsleeves. It is a night for noticing. It is a good night for living.