Harvard Avenue: Samitic Quater

Sea-crusted bagels and jelly-filled cubic-shaped sugar pieces on just-baked bear claws. I love Sundays on Harvard Avenue, where bright sunlight reveals embroidered kepas on men's partially balding heads, tsit-tsi on children, side-locked curls down to their waists, a primary colored elephant-pattenrn on his head, small black shoes and gathered black dress pants struggling to keep up with this father's. Starchy-whites, a clean finish to the morning. Sidewalks filled with wide store-fronts of silver and gold, selling soft-cover children's stories in red and green cloth, elaborate silver candelbra menorahs, and smaller, simpler, clay versions in modern colors and styles. Sycamore bouldevards of mottled moss green and beigge dwarf girls in long skirts and sleeves, a long reveire into verdant summer of lawn mower buzzing and fresh cut grass, hostas, full, huge, overwhelming the garden plots and overflowing onto sidewalks and streets. White fence buffers to wrap-porch Victorians in pink, lavender, and buttercup, the purple flowers of the hostas shape-shifting into the milk-spotted asphalt. Plates of light sliding across teh road in response to a random number sorter: the theory of the universe is in this walk down Brookline boulevards of Jewish bakeries and boufant skirts, human life dwarfed by the elements and colliding, crunching, concentrated on city corners of spilt ice-cream cones, stained glass synogogues, colored lightbulb covered Sukkot, next to the mailboxes and parking meters, bubble gum patties, collecting here, and then moving outward in diminishing relief toward the park, the grassy square, then the woodships beneath the swings, and finally, curling back into the neighborhoods whose streets turn in on themselves or, due to some slight of hand, end abruptly in a carousel of flourescent orange lillies and scattered wildflowers like some mockery to the attempted outlier.