THE CITY STREETS

The morning was breaking softly in the east. The sun was not quite up yet, but the light was already strong. The sky was light in color, from white to a light blue. Thin pinkish-blue clouds were scattered and spread out above. The world was fresh and washed clean from the previous night’s rain. The green grass and the brown soil of the gardens were still wet with damp.

It was Sunday morning and the city streets lay sleeping for a change. The black tarmac ribbons zigzagged across suburbia and the city, but few cars traversed them. Only here and there a solitary car may have been spotted on the roads. For the most, the streets were quite this early.

For once the neighborhoods were silent, undisturbed by the sounds of people and cars and dogs barking. There was hardly any wind, and the air was fresh and pleasing to the taste. The trees stood about wet and unmoving, washed clean by last night’s rain. They were green and beautiful in the gardens. Here and there a house sported some fresh, colorful flowers in their beds.

Out on the high-way the cars cruised by with moderate speed. The railway tracks lay silent this morning. There was no sign of aircraft or helicopters about. The traffic lights changed color from time to time, to little benefit. A single news-paper boy stood silently on a corner trying to sell papers to the few passers-by. The world was enveloped in a silent Sunday morning. It was still early, and later there would be a bit more noise and signs of activity.

But for a while the city lay silent and whole, healthy and unwounded, in the new day. The morning held the world in perfection for moment, and then a car drove past…