stone three

Under the blue light of a young moon the breeze stirs up dust and dried flow­er petals from the stone street. This is the way that the city breaths. Moments before dawn a rogue church bell clangs in the dis­tance. The neigh­bours are pack­ing their rusty pick­up truck with fruit and veg­eta­bles before haul­ing them to mar­ket. The sky begins to turn pink and the birds begin to sing. Traf­fic puls­es to the rhythm of the lights and pedes­tri­ans weave their way through the stopped cars. Impa­tient horns announce the com­ing of a new day. The bus to work is more than rou­tine, it is med­i­ta­tion. The city breaths and we syn­chro­nize.