In the silence of a Sunday morning when all the village sleeps
only the beating of birds’ wings overhead
disturbs the stillness of the sombre statues
and silhouettes their shadows on the ground.
Offended by the remnants of the night before
I gently shepherd the litter in the streets
guiding it calmly into a quiet corner
to lie ashamed and largely out of sight.
Emerging like a figure from the darkness
or mountains as early morning mist has moved away
I watch the centre slowly come to life as solitary figures
animate the still life scene by subtle stages.
A frail old lady falters with her dog on a morning mission
an elder stoops across the Square his bible in his hand
avoiding the youth who stumbles home from all night revels
while a child enters the paper shop carefully clutching his pennies.
As more early morning images emerge into the sunlight
and cars distress the tranquil early morning state
until the absolute beauty of nature is broken
I quietly withdraw to watch and wait.
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