The field was a golden ocean, and the child—a tiny boat sailing against the wind. Her bare feet kicked up dust as she ran, her laughter blending with the rustling leaves. For a moment, time paused. No school bells, no grown-up worries—just the sunflowers nodding in approval, their faces turned toward the sky like old friends sharing a secret.
Why it matters: This isn’t just a child playing. It’s the universe whispering: “Look how simple joy can be.”
His hands trembled as he scattered crumbs, but the pigeons knew him. They flocked to his bench like clockwork, their coos a language only he understood. The city rushed around them honking cars, buzzing phones but here, time moved at the pace of falling bread. His smile was quiet, worn at the edges, but real.
The bike hadn’t moved in years. Its chain was rusted, its seat cracked by rain. But the graffiti behind it screamed in neon: “I WAS HERE.” Funny, how things outlast people. Someone once rode this bike maybe to work, maybe to escape. Now it just leaned there, a silent monument to stories untold.
The streetlamp painted him gold. No collar, no home just a patch of warmth on cold concrete. His paws twitched as he dreamed. Of what? A full belly? A hand that didn’t shoo him away? The city slept around him, but he was alive there, in that pool of light, unbothered and sovereign.
The steam curled like a question mark. Those hands veined, sturdy had held more than just china. They’d held babies, wiped tears, buried loved ones. Now they paused, letting the heat seep into bones. The tea wasn’t just leaves and water; it was a ritual. A tiny rebellion against the rush
The cracks split the glass into jagged islands, each holding a piece of the sky. People called it broken, but look closer it turned one blue into a mosaic. Maybe we’re like that too. Shattered, but never less beautiful.
It slithered long and thin, a black fingerprint on the bricks. No body to claim it just the suggestion of something unseen. You’d quicken your step, but what if it’s harmless? What if it’s just the light playing hide-and-seek?
It shouldn’t have survived. The concrete was ruthless, the air thick with exhaust. But there it was a fuzzy yellow fist punching through the cracks. Not asking permission. Just being. By tomorrow, a foot might crush it. Today, though? Today it was invincible.
