Blog Post #2
It’s a crisp autumn day. As I walk along the streets of Whitestone, Queens’ best-kept secret, the atmosphere creates a potpourri of sounds that are otherwise dismissed by its residents. The leaves, one by one, fall off the trees and rustles onto the concrete. They crumble and deteriorate as my shoe presses against them. The sound is loud and brittle for such a delicate flattened structure. This wind whistles as the leaves crackle through it, flowing harmoniously through the vicinity. Birds chirp from high in the trees, scolding the squirrels from invading their nests: life is all around me. Crickets in the nearby bushes make noise to one another as I pass. In the quiet, residential area, I begin to hear laughter and clinking of glasses at the local bier garden. Children play in a nearby school yard; rubber balls slam against the courts, springing back spontaneously to the players. As I approach closer to my house, there is a large overpass I walk over. Cars speed underneath my feet vi...