Echo

The streets are cleaner. Smoking: an absurdity of the past now reserved for the extravagant and the reckless.

The bus stops reek of alcohol. The smell is not attached to the young coming home from an adventurous night, nor the homeless. Every morning a wet film covers the seats like dew.

The driver sits behind a plastic shield. Passengers keep to themselves. Too internalized the distance. Mumbling towards their phones. Wiping them once in a while. The textile industry has commercialized more inches of skin. Rose petals, dots or patterns cover nose and mouth.

The passing shop windows are covered in adverts. Discounts, clearance sales, to let signs in red and yellow. Even the lady at the window makes do with her spring coat.

A breeze invites the leaves to dance. A cat is lolling about in the sun on the bench. The park has flourished in life. Its beauty humbles the eyes of visitors and the oak has not lost its dress yet.