Place entry #4:

This afternoon, I took a walk around my small circle. It has been extremely windy out, and I was worried about it too much yesterday to take the walk I wanted. This afternoon, though, the wind has died down somewhat, and while it isn't as warm as it has been this week, the sun is bright and shining and I only need my light jacket, no gloves.

As I set out from my house and turn right, I notice right away that there are about four newspapers in my driveway, two of which are crushed and pulpy. I resolve to pick them up on the way back, but I know I will forgot or just decide not to. They are not my newspapers. As I continue walking down the sidewalk, I see an empty plastic vodka bottle thrown into the yard between my house and my neighbor's. I resolve to pick it up on my way back, but I know I will forget. I keep walking, down toward the abandoned house on the corner. A man has started up his car and is going back inside his house for something. We barely acknowledge each other, maybe a nod of the head, maybe not.

I turn right before I hit the abandoned house. A small dog with whom I am familiar barks at me from inside the house on my right. Next to that, a large dog starts barking, too.  I hear the own yell for it to shut up. I can see it in the window seat, and it is panting and whining and wants to come out and jump on me. It is brown, I think, but there is some glare so maybe it isn't.

There are all sorts of round pine-cone type things on the ground. They remind me of sea urchins from a book my mother used to read to me when I was little. When I step on them, their spines crunch but their round bodies stay strong and do not flatten. They cover the sidewalk all the way down this road. I idly kick a few, and they don't go very far. I step on several, and their spines flatten, sometimes with a satisfying crunch but with all the rain we had over the last two days most are too soggy for that.

I turn right again. I am a block behind my house now, catty-corner from it. I could see it through the trees if I tried, but I don't need to. Besides, on this block you need to watch where you step. Right as I think that, I notice a huge pile of dog shit on the left of the sidewalk, easily several days old. A few feet later, there is another, just on the side walk off the grass on the right. I am disgusted. I resolve to bring big bags with me next time, and triple bag this stuff. I won't remember. There is some broken glass a few more feet down the lane. I avoid it.

At the end of the block, the house has the whole corner fenced in for their three Caviler King Charles Spaniels. The dogs are not out today, which is good. They are vicious, and usually snarl and bark at anyone who comes by. I take my time as I turn right again, looking at the trees that grow inside the fence. There are a lot, five or six, and the yard seems extra big, fenced in from the front to the very back all along the side. There are leaves still on them, a few anyway, but the ground isn't very grassy. A small stuffed dog wearing a Santa hat has been abandoned in the middle of the yard. I have seen the brown dog that lives here carry it with him when he is outside. There is some sort of trash against the fence, but I can't make out what. It's papery. Soon I am at the backyard that I share with the left side of my duplex. There is an empty fast food cup in the grass. A few feet up from that, a beer can. My neighbor's trashcan is on its side in the front yard, possibly blown over by the wind, maybe left there after trash day Thursday. It's not my problem.

I turn right again, the last time. I am at my house. I am thirsty and have to pee. I check that I have my keys and go in the front door, ignoring the newspapers. M. will pick them up when she comes to see me next time.

Coming into the neighborhood, there is a sign that says "NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH. WE REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY." This implies that we take pride in our neighborhood, and consider it our home, in the "where the heart is" sense of the word.

But we sure as hell won't clean up after ourselves.