The sun kissed my face as I stepped out of my car.  I stood staring at the blue sky and held my head still enough to watch the clouds shifting overhead.  A slight breeze crossed my path as I walked around the passenger side and inhaled the scent of a passing summer.  Autumn had officially begun two weeks ago and today’s weather appeared unexpectedly, as if mother nature had pulled back the curtain for an encore of the “dog days.”
            
 My eyes met those of my dog who sat impatiently in the car.  We had returned home from our weekly obedience class and a crash course of “sit” and “leave it” were awaiting him in the high school field.  My muffled voice echoes “stay” through the car window and his tail went out of sight as I slowly opened the door and in one full sweep, retrieved him by his collar, and swept him to the sidewalk.  Doggy 101 just entered the real world and he anxiously pulled as I attempted to catch my footing.  While remembering all I was told by the instructor, I planted my feet and tugged on his retractable leash, fumbling with the button between the “hold” and “release” position.  He let out a dry cough that suggested he was somewhat choking himself and understood who was pack leader, so he slowed down to my pace, as my well spent training money steadily stepped towards the grass.

While the weather was beautiful, human feet with Boston Terrier paws rhythmically crunched on plastic bottles and empty styrofoam, take out containers.  “What I waste” I thought to myself, comparing the garbage randomly strewn throughout the street to the elegant season forced to lye beside it.  Depending on where you are in the city, it is easier to appreciate the background of weather when the props accentuate its’ natural artistry.  In the case of my neighborhood, beauty is rare.  Even during the winter when snow rolls silently across the asphalt  the discolored telephone poles and abandoned corner store covered in tag names makes it easy to depreciate “my block” during conversation.  My thoughts digressed as my dog, who knew no difference between North Philadelphia and Chestnut Hill grass, went on claiming territory between his legs.  As we continued along the track, I administered the “leave it” exam as his curiosity led him to remnants of Big League chewing gum, trampled McDonald’s bags, dusty mouth pieces, and impatiently torn Trojan wrappers.  He passed with flying colors and I suggested we make our way back home.

A young couple, jogging together, suddenly passed us.  “Hmm” speaking to myself, “That’s nice.”  A nice couple, not yelling or screaming, no fighting and appearing happy as they supported one another with “One more time babe.  We got this” continuing at the same pace.  In all of my years entering this field, this was a pleasant sight to see, an image fit for this weather.  I then saw three children with their to 20-something parents, the man spinning a football, entering through the fence.  The three children ranged from ages four to about eight; two boys and one girl, their innocent smiles suggesting excitement for family time and ignorance of cleaner parks to play football with dad.  Another “Hmm.”

I continued to walk as I watched the mother lye down on the grass facing the father who began to prep his children for a throw.  I was instantly glued to this family participating in a positive activity in this raggedy neighborhood, in this disheveled field, and they were enjoying themselves.  As we neared the exit I stared back up at the sky and drawing close to an apology for judgment when “GET THE HELL OFF OF HIM” was heard from the family man.  My dog and I stopped, turning towards the football game unraveling to our left.