The Oldest Residents

It's nearing midnight and the streets lay silently beneath the oldest residents of the Old East Hill. Residents whose personal names are unknown to the people who they shelter from the wind, sun, rain and smog on a daily basis.
They are simply known as 'Maple' , 'Beech', 'Old Pine on the Corner', 'Crooked Crabapple on Victoria', 'Oak' and a myriad of other names which people have long forgotten.

It's late spring now. The towering nameless residents are wearing their finest greenery and tiny nestlings cry to be fed in the crotched branches high above the sidewalks.I walk along pretending not to notice . I look at them sometimes, I sense them looking back. Smiling back. Their presence leaves me with a glowing faith that everything is ok here. More than ok.
The Old East Hill is loved. Loved by it's oldest and grandest residents. We flourish under their care. The night rests on and the crooks and twists of the grizzled branches lay silent in the cool misty air. Peace falls softly on The Old East Hill as midnight closes in. Tomorrow the stories begin again.
Just as they always do .

©JoSmith