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The view from the top of our street is a spectacular one, from it you can see over the expanse of our town and all the way to Manhattan. I love it, of course, for its grandeur, which is ever-changing with the season and the light. But I love it most because, for the few minutes our dog Sophie and I pause there every time we take a walk, I feel as though I have my children within sight. The bell tower of our high school peeks through tree tops, the edge of our town pool glimmers off to one side, and then there are the skyscrapers of Manhattan – uptown, midtown, downtown.
When the children were still at home, I would look out and imagine them in school – at their desks, in their labs, practicing for the latest theatrical venture or choir recital.
For one very special year, when Elizabeth began her graduate studies in Manhattan and both Ben and Olivia were still in school, I could imagine all three busy with this, that or the other as I gazed across the view.
Now, two of them live in the city, and the view remains a place to come to a halt, and to allow myself to think of what they may be doing. In my mind’s eye, I can see Elizabeth hurrying to a meeting, discovering a new bookstore, or sunning herself in Central Park. And there is Ben, I can see him catching the subway to his classes, joining friends to play guitar, ducking into a building to escape a sudden downpour.
I love the view…and the idea that, for just a few minutes every day, my children are still somehow within sight.