Ode to my Neighbour

I notice at about 4:57 that it had turned to a rather dismal, dreary day. I hadn't noticed before because my eyes were locked to my computer, making frustrated attempts to write cover letters as the frantic job search marches on. Then I went and stood outside.

Since my morning jog when the snow was still slushy and there was that hope that perhaps the final nail had been driven into winter's coffin it started up again. The grey, remorseless sky, spitting out little pellets of ice, once again.

The wind was moaning or at least I thought the wind was moaning but then I realized the sound was coming from next door.

There is hardly ever a peep from next door in the little white house with a bird bath that is tipped over in the backyard. There lives a lone little old man who I can only detect by the small lamp that shines through the curtains.

Once, when I was standing between our houses talking to my friend I looked up and was shocked. It was as if I were seeing a ghost: there stood old man Cedrick staring down at us through the window. I immediately hushed and stood acutely aware of what seemed like an angry scowl on his face. Now that I look back on it, perhaps it was merely wrinkles.

I am always afraid that old man Cedrick will be annoyed by me or my fellow neighbours. His driveway is grown over in the summer but he keeps a "Private Driveway" sign clearly posted. Sometimes we stay up late and play drums and blast our guitar amps to jam to the fullest. I can't be sure that volume doesn't upset him once in awhile.

But today when I stood outside and looked through the barren tree's arms, I heard something that sounded suspiciously like a violin. The rising and descending scales of music coming from old man Cedrick's house. I could hear him playing "Ode to Joy".