Early Sunday Morning

[rejectomorph]

The mountain silence barely broken by rare distant cars and faint breeze through the ponderosas. Somewhere at the back of my mind another night, someone walking under my streetside window, whistling in another barely broken silence another early morning on brickwalled Main Street. Who could it have been passing by the dark shops and empty theatre? Going where in that strange silent city? Heatbaked pavements and vanishing footfalls with that snatch of unrecognizable song, unseen stranger vanishing into that maze of streets, now suddenly suspended in that moment in memory, here where the footfalls of only my cat sound in the leaves dropped last winter by the oak.