Ann Marie Sekeres, “Andy in Lisbon”
By Tobi Alfier
Down Harbor Way The water’s always a version of blue to black, quiet or boisterous, music orchestrating the whole affair. Anchored on one end by the Rose and Thorn Pub, the other holds the ferry dock, taxi stand, Joan’s groceries, and parking. In-between, wide terraced steps, polished rock and limestone brick welcome the residents of butter-yellow houses from one end to the other. White-framed windows share the view of park and sea. Children with nannies and grandparents hopscotch from lunches of soup and bread, the odd whisky, to groceries for dinners around large tables, the picnickers having gone home to their own dinners. Summers, finches sing in the trees. Winterbare branches shadow inside walls like the open palms of beggars. A blessed neighborhood, where families change with the nature of all living, but never leave. The circuit of steps bears their measure, from first frost, to spring, to the darkened death of winter, mute in the last of the breaking light.