The Polish Neighbours

I am strangely comforted by the low murmuring of my Polish neighbours, in the darkness on a warm June night.  I can’t tell you what they look like or what their names are.  I haven’t spoken to them yet, although I have said hello to the woman when she took her child out the other day.

They live in the ‘unlucky house’ – noone stays there very long.  Even in the relatively short time that I’ve lived there, there have been about eight changes of occupant. Different faces for the house to get used to.

My neighbours like the heat and seem to particularly like being outside.  When I am bringing in the washing before I go to bed, or am just enjoying the warmth of the June night from the doorframe, I hear their exchange – male voices and laughter.  I don’t understand what they are saying, and it doesn’t matter; I don’t want to know.

I find them reassuring: guardians of the night.  Whilst I sleep, they will talk the night away; and ease into the morning.