Seema stepped out onto her front porch, the Calgary sun blinding her. Even without being able to see exactly where she was going, she managed to get down the steps. After all, she had been climbing up and down these steps for nearly a decade.

The fragrant lilac shrubs that lined her street greeted her, as did the mesmerizing calls of the black-capped chickadees. Not so mesmerizing were the squawks of the black-billed magpies. But she loved these just the same because they had come to signify home. There were no magpies out East, where Seema had spent the first few decades of her life.

Seema glanced down at her watch. In reality, it was a fitness tracker - an early birthday gift from her brother during his last visit. But to her, it was just a glorified watch.

7:42 a.m.

"I have 7 minutes," she thought as she quickly tried to derive a plan to catch her bus and avoid being late for the third time this week. It's not that the bus stop was far from Seema's house, or that she was running late. It almost didn't matter what time she left because each day, the same thing would happen.

Seema lived in a wonderfully quaint little townhouse community where it was next to impossible to avoid her colourful neighbours as she came and went. She actually loved connecting with them --they too had come to mean home. But 7:42 a.m. was not the best time to run into Mrs. Jensen. Too late. Seema hadn't averted her eyes in time.

"My, don't you look fancy?" teased Mrs. Jensen, pointing to Seema's jewelled statement necklace. Seema flashed her a smile.

"I have a big presentation at work today," she explained.

"It reminds me of a necklace this fella I was seeing a few years ago, gave me for my birthday," started Mrs. Jensen. After her divorce, she had entertained an interesting variety of gentleman suitors. She always had tales to tell or gossip to spill. "I believe he bought it from the East Indian jeweler next to where the Indian grocery store is. You must know the place."

Seema nodded politely. This part of the city was full of Indian grocery stores and Indian jewelers, but she didn't have the time to delve into that with her neighbour this morning. Mrs. Jensen continued, "They make the best samosas there. I just love Indian food!"

Once again, Seema became acutely aware of her brown skin. Mrs. Jensen was well-intentioned but her efforts to relate to Seema often resulted in a foot-in-mouth sort of situation. How could she so routinely reduce all that Seema was, to a collection of melanin?

Seema glanced down at her watch. 7:44 a.m.

"I actually bought my necklace at Old Navy last month," she offered. "Gotta run! Have a great day Mrs. Jensen." She continued walking down the sidewalk.

Seema passed by Mr. Yuen's house and exchanged their customary morning nod as he sat on his porch, reading from his newspaper and sipping his tea. Mr. Yuen, now retired, still operated like clockwork. In fact, as he stood to get out of his chair, Seema knew it must be 7:45 a.m.

As she turned the corner, she could hear the angry cries of Isla emerging from the red minivan. Oh, Isla. Only three but full of so much personality.

"I'm hungrrrrrryyyyyyyyyy!" she wailed. Her mother threw a cereal bar at her as she ran back into the house to get ten-month-old Caleb.

"I told you, you would be hungry if you didn't finish your cereal," mother said as she returned with Caleb on her hip. He cooed at Seema as she passed.

"Good Morning Mr. Caleb!" greeted Seema in an unnaturally cheery voice. His bright blue eyes and chubby fingers were always a welcome sight. The snot that was now oozing out of his nose was not. 

"I don't like blueberry!" protested Isla as her fingers smooshed the cereal bar, still in its wrapper. Her mother sighed loudly as she put the childrens' bags in the van and let the door slam shut. Seema continued towards the bus stop.

7:48 a.m.

A snowshoe hare darted across the street, its otherwise white fur, now a greyish brown. Seema could see the bus down the road. "Phew," she thought as she reached the bus stop. It was in front of Mr. Khan's house. Mr. Khan was an elderly man who sometimes walked with a cane and always wore a vest. He had a white beard and could often be found outside tending to his garden. His front porch was littered with toys and bikes that presumably belonged to his grandchildren. This morning he was carrying a bag of soil that appeared to be much too heavy. From the corner of her eye, Seema could see the bus approaching, but the pull to help Mr. Khan was too strong. She smiled at him as she grabbed one end of the bag.

"Thank you, Beta" he said as his cloudy grey eyes met hers--eyes that contained many a story of loss and love, horror and adventure - stories that one day she hoped to learn. Seema helped lower the bag of soil in front of the pink roses that were beginning to bloom.

"Have a good day, Uncle Ji," Seema said before walking back to the bus stop, the tail end of the bus speeding out of view.

7:50 a.m.

Seema stood. She had missed her bus, yet again. She closed her eyes for a moment and soaked in the solitude. She breathed in the intermingling scent of lilacs and roses. She listened to the concert of chickadees and magpies, punctuated by the songs of sparrows and robins. Soon, the air around her would hold the sound of fellow commuters, talking on their phones in a multitude of languages.

It is then that Seema made peace with the fact that mornings, while hectic, brought her closer to her neighbors and that sense of community was worth a missed bus...or three.