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Commonwealth Avenue

'Commonwealth Avenue'
By,
Christina Nanfeldt
I have seen every inch of the world in my time. I have witnessed my kin sprout from the cradle, shaken hands with blood in war, sailed the seas of our unchartered Earth, and like all men, have discover the true meaning of hardship, truth and survival. When I died, I left life in satisfaction, gratitude for the sights I saw, people I loved, and tears I cried. I am dead, but I am not gone. My spirit is immortalized as a bronze statue of Samuel Eliot Morison, naval historian, writer, and Bostonian.

I sit perched on a rock between Exeter and Fairfield on Commonwealth Ave. Parallel to the hustle and bustle of Newbery St. and quaint residencies on Marlborough, Commonwealth takes the business of one and the peacefulness of the other, to create a street one with the true essence of Boston. There are two sides of the street; one facing the other, both with beautifully crafted brownstones. Each has their own character with their own ascetic and story. Faces peer out their apartment windows to see a mall of luscious greenery separating the constant traffic of vehicles zooming up and down. The canopy of trees form an oasis along the mall, making you feel like you are in a snow globe, disconnecting you from the chaos of the city and allowing you to watch the world on a park bench as it moves by.

I watch the dew mold on blades of grass at dawn, when men in suits emerge from solitude and head for work. I admire children and students as they walk in the morning free air to school where they are imprisoned to the darkness of a classroom. I gaze at strangers and random passersby: couples caressing on benches, the scruffy man smoking a cigarette, an overworked mother walking her black Labrador, children wearing erasing grins and pigtails playing hopscotch. I wait for beauty of nightfall, when the moonrises above the treetops, the streetlights illuminate shadows against sidewalks, and homeless friends rest in the grassy haven.
Day after day, season after season, year after year, my street remains the same. The people change, homes are rebuilt, and buildings are constructed, but the air, the sunrise, the beauty of Boston still remains the same.





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