Looking out my front window while I wait for the LAST batch of Lemon-Chamomile Shortbread to bake for tomorrow morning's bake sale.
Witness a neighbor across the street in his front upstairs window. He's wearing a gray T shirt with the sleeves cut off. I see him in profile from the waist up. The room is dim. The TV is flickering. He's standing close to the window making odd jerky motions.
I'm intrigued.
I'm picturing another lurid encounter with fornicating neighbors.
Of course I continue to watch.
His movements are curious. His front window is open. I can tell because the curtains stir.
I open our front door. Even across the street I can hear it. . .
Shuuuuuuuuu, Shuuuuuuuu, Shuuuuuuuu. . .
His vocalizations carry across our quiet, narrow, city street.
Shuuuuuuuuu, Shuuuuuuuuu, Shuuuuuuuu. . .
And his movements seem coreographed with his cadence.
I'm mesmerized.
I watch. I listen.
Is this some kind of tantric sex stuff I don't understand?
Suddenly gurgling is audible. And then a tiny little arm offers itself from his profile.
He is comforting a newborn baby. He is shuuuuuuu - ing and rocking a baby.
And suddenly, my perverse curiosity is replaced by a curious longing.
And I am overwhelmed by sentiment.
His movements are suddenly understood as tender, and precious, and beautiful.
His shuuuuuuuuu soothes the empty street.
And I wonder what am I missing?
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