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Trees lined the sidewalks and shaded the street, like a blanket covering a child while he sleeps. The trees took on all different forms, some grew tall and others stayed small; some trees seemed to try to touch the other side of the road, while others stood straight. The trees watched the people of East River Terrace. In the mornings the air smelled like dark black coffee and the morning dew on grass, as the trees watched people start their day with their heads up high. As the day grew old the trees again watched the car engines click off, and people scurried into their homes. Then the trees like the people in their homes waited for the crisp morning air once again.

The houses on East River Terrace stood timidly in the shade of the trees. From the shadows windows peaked out of the darkness to look into the sunlight. One house was built with dark red brick and lined with white trim. This house stood just above the tree line, so sunlight seeped through the cracks in the leaves. Next to the brick house stood a little house with a wood exterior. The wood was gray and looked faded, the door gleamed bright red and loudly creaked as it opened. Next to the little wood house, the largest evergreen on the street lived. The evergreen smelled like pine.

Old men and women walked along this straight path, watching the doors open and bang shut. Tapping their shoes on the concrete, these men and women felt the roughness on the ground beneath them. But as they looked up the world smoothed out again. Their focus shifted from their feet to the meeting of the blue sky and the tops of the trees and to the fresh smell of the trees and morning coffee. East River Terrace stood like the trees and houses, still as it waited for all the little people that lived there to come home again.