House has been vacant over a year.

There’s a house on my block where roosters roam freely. I counted eight this morning. The old lady that once owned the house died. Since then the flowers and grass have been left to fend for themselves. Her family from Mexico replaced the old lady. The grass was left to die and the roses were replaced by cactus. The house and the way it used to look have changed. The only thing left that reminds me of the old lady is her guayaba tree that fills the air with its’ tangy scent in the spring. Currently, they remodel.

There’s a house on my block with a big brick wall and wrought iron gates. The people who live there drive in and out all day in their SUVs and pick up trucks. When they’re home they play loud music, sometimes rancheras, sometimes Tupac. You can’t see them past their plants and gates but you can hear their gritos. The police often pick up the youngest one. Currently, he’s out.

There’s a house on my block where no one lives. All the grass is dead. The tree in the front yard has overgrown its’ welcome. It stretches over the neighbors driveway. The house was white two years ago but now, together with the lifeless grass, it looks like a sepia photograph. The big tree’s leaves cover the old asphalt driveway with dry remnants of its self. The old man that fixed VCRs died in there. His sister and nephew sold the house. Currently, it’s empty.

There’s a house on my block where I live. My lazy dog lays sentry on the ground by the front gate. Only barks if you’re outside the gate. Begs for attention if  you walk in. The pigeons huddle to share warmth in the back yard coop. The indoor mutt barks at passersby from the safety behind the metal door. The cactus grows in the back yard and roses in the front and a dry tree stump is finally removed after fifteen years of begging you to sit on it. Currently, we love it.

There’s a lot more. Change is very slow on my block.