by Cynthia Ruff

Created on: November 05, 2009

The streets were finally quiet. They stood silent as children settled into their classrooms, those with purposes outside the home reached their destinations, and those not wishing to leave home on this given autumn morning remained inside.

Either way the streets were quiet, and it was wonderful. It was spiritual, this continuous walk. All that was truly real, the trees, their discarded leaves, the grass underneath, the cat in the yard snoozing, the grey sky above, all existed above and beyond the junk of reality - the empty store windows, the yellow real estate sign shouting price reduced and the dumpy unnatural shape of the woman and man on the street.

Even they in their funkiness of tattoos and worn ill-fitting clothes had a purpose along with the squirrels, the barking dogs, and the church bells that had begun to ring.

It was quiet and peaceful; the chaos was over; the cars thumping with music, the sirens racing to an accident, the shouting, and the horn blowing; it was all over.

As the body walked, it thanked God for another day of living, breathing and having the strength to rise from bed, assemble its personage, and make it on to the street.

With the walk would come the same memories of past lives that had resided here for one hundred years. To wonder what the people of that past age were thinking when they had walked these streets is what gave the walk this magic and spirituality.

Today's walker could think about yesterday, maybe even envy it and wish to turn back the clock, because perhaps there was a deeper spirituality on the streets in that day as the walker imagined nuns bustling from the convent or the school or the church.

Perhaps on a cold winter night, dressed snuggly in their nunish apparel, they had scurried along together, the whole lot of them. And many there were in those days as they whisked the children into the church to practice the Christmas play just one more time.

And on that appointed night, the children would finish the play, turn to find their parents, and head home to a nice warm home where presents and food awaited.

But what about the nuns, they would wonder, as they turned back towards them for just one more look. Would they see their families and have the same holiday experience with them? They seemed lonely and sad as they waved back to the children and slowly headed to the dank convent walls for prayer and more prayer.

But the children need not worry. The walk for the nuns was soothing, sentimental, cold,

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