June 21st is the date of the winter solstice in Australia. This day has set me thinking about my neighbours who, like me, will be turning on their lights and warming their rooms as they prepare for the long, cold night ahead.
When I was young, neighbours were remote figures dimly glimpsed, as though through a rain-spattered window. We seemed to have so little in common. A casual wave, a few words about the weather...a rare irritation with barking dogs or an overhanging tree branch.
But now I'm older and I live in a settled street where I have come to know most of my neighbours. They reflect my own journey through the decades. Childhood and adolescence; marriage and parenting; work and change. I see houses sold, and new people arriving. Where on my timeline will they fit?
As I go along the street, I am in familiar, friendly territory. Benson, the Golden Retriever, shows up at the gate, hoping for a tidbit. Melanie the one-eyed cat stares crookedly from a driveway.
I stop to collect the mail for Bob and Jan, who are away on their New Zealand cruise.
I wonder if Jannine is sick. Her car is in the driveway and she hasn't taken in her rubbish bin. Perhaps I'll phone her later.
I can hear Peter's radio, tuned to its '60s hits. He emerges from his workshop, grumbling that his arthritis is giving him gyp. We exchange goods--a carrot cake for a tray of his free-range eggs. His hens are a happy sound, clucking as they wake to daylight.
I value these encounters. They are small connections but they count.
As night closes in on the shortest day, I will look out on the darkened world, comforted by the warm glow of lights in my neighbours' windows.
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