Mowing

Beyond the blur of the early morning mist, neon lights paint the sky and sirens animate eyes that live below the fading moon. Amidst buildings that kiss the clouds and streets pusled with life, the sun emerges, casting a magical glow of the dew-kissed gardens. The air holds a crispness that invigorates the senses and the world seems to slow. As the raindrops dance upon umbrellas, dreams lose their distinction from life. Millions of identities lying within the souls of the city are carved by the feet that walk atop the pavement. A street musician pours his soul into his guitar, inspiring those who are willing to listen. The elderly couple strolls hand in hand embodying a lifetime of love, their wrinkles telling tales of enduring devotion. The busied college students hope to not fail their philosophy class, their hearts mended by the kindness they receive from the old woman on the bus.

The buildings ahead speak. They tell their story. Each carrying the stones and the lives as a part of the masterpiece of coexistence. “What was it it whispered? Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun. Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound. And that was why it whispered and did not speak.” Beyond the blur of constant motion a vibrant tapestry of experiences waiting to be lived invites us to explore our multifaceted would. Dreams scribble their aspirations in the margins of this city’s collective novel. Even when the world is filled with malintent, the people in it are not. But the world is loud and people work themselves to the bone just to keep up. When the lights go out, people are just people. In the dark, we fray from chaos and green-eyed greed turns to the embodiment of a fleeting beauty that exists beyond the usual haste of human life.