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Topaz Dr. The long cracked asphalt stretched every morning, hitting its head at the start of Emerald Dr. and tickling Pearl Dr. with its toes. Nestled at its very beginning was a modest home that occupied the last lot on the right after you come down the hill (watch the dip!). The handmade mailbox proclaimed it as 5435, and the lawn proclaimed it as a residence with busy residents. Two large windows dotted the front of its white facade, winking as the porch smiled its paint-chipped smile to passerby. The front door could smell visitors coming all the way from Pearl.

A cement driveway wrapped around the side of the house, passing the gutter where Charina backed into the house on Christmas five years ago and ending at a mini-5435 Topaz Dr. of a garage. Nevermind the garage. The most magnificent feature of the home was behind--Central Park. A huge carpet of lucious green grass laid the foundation for a magical backyard, still echoing with joyous cries of happily entertained children and energetic yelps from carefree dogs. Age-old trees bordered the area and dwarfed a battered fence which kept curfews and bad intentions out. There was more buzzing in the backyard than just busy bees, for the blades themselves seemed to whisper the stories of the children whom they served.

One whiff of the air left you saturated with summer's finest glories, freshly pollinated flowers and cut grass lying in heaps. The fruit trees in the back waved when you stuck your head over the fence, and if you heeded their beckoning welcome, they'd greet you with a tart cherry or ripened plum. The backyard at Topaz tasted that way. Always growing and fresh off the tree, pumpkin vines tumbling onto the black tarp beneath the tomatoes and tangy pea juice from a just-picked pod.

Such a glorious haven of happiness from back then.

It's still there. 5435 is still plopped at the end of the street, but now its windows droop sleepily when unexpected visitors surprise the front door. The lawn speaks of no more residents, and the driveway just plods to the back when you mention the park. What used to be grass crunches now. You can hear it when you stand outside the gate. It looks forlorn from the outside. No one lives there anymore. There were children? They share lawns with a whole complex now.

The fruit trees might still wave. Heed them. They won't have any cherries, but take a trip across the grass.

Was that a crunch?

Or was it

a whisper?