Last night while entertaining Daire and Grannia we heard a knock at our front door.
Prior to tonight we would have heard tires crunching on the gravel long before anyone could have gotten to our door. We would have seen lights flashing on the wall as someone turned off of the lane in to our property. There are tell tale signs and sounds of approaching visitors. If you don’t hear or see the signs, if someone got to the door and knocked it would have been accompanied by a quicker heart beat. A curious, maybe a little concerned, glance at one another.
Here, the knock was unexpected but welcome. It was the way the world use to operate come a knocking.
Carrying fresh baked pumpkin bread.
A welcome to the neighborhood.
And handed me my very first true sense of neighborhood in decades.