The City, Pt. 3

Today is a day for great joy in the city. Stand in its throngs as the doors are thrown open, pouring out people whose arms all reach outward to touch and to hold, to lift and to twirl and to carry their loved ones up over the street, where dirt and debris all get trodden and ground into Earth’s finest dust. A warm wind comes to paint the sky, streaking cheeks with all that’s left of what was said, though we’re past that now.

Watch the men who take long strides, long lost friends all gripping hands or backs of heads, laughing just to feel some quivering bow-upon-string, this music of life. 

Someone claps you on the back then hands you a drink, calls you by name, waves out an arm where people are dancing, hiking up skirts and kicking out feet, hands clapping to keep the time and always someone shouting, “More!”

You drink as children flutter past the legs-like-playgrounds, britches clean from living hidden; dirtied soon for the games are progressing. Mothers eye them, touching cheeks, holding hands, waists tied clean with cotton drape, rumpled soon for doors stand open—invitation—guests begetting strangers who make friends before the drink is done.

This crowd is beating like a heart, flapping wings, singing anthems, songs of life and of the fight that no-one can remember now. Joyful people all in crowds, holding Light as if it were a newborn babe, never spoiling, ever better than the way they feel today inside the city.