The soft caress of the wind, teasing, drifting through tendrils of hair, warm and full of promise. Wafting, entwined with the redolence of fresh baking cookies from the nearby cookie factory.
The quiet murmur of friends, of family, of neighbours asking for the time, of coworkers and strangers, sharing a moment before the right bus comes at the bus terminal at the town center.
Couples descending the escalator, slowly cocooned in a world of their own, he holding her shopping, she holding his hand. The sweet aromas of popcorn saved from the last movie, the bag of pink fluffy cotton candy taken home to the glee of a younger sibling awaiting in pyjamas.
Then over the soft murmur, through the whispering winds, the lazy cascade of a saxophone's melody, tumbling tenderly, crooning, floating down from the terrace up top the overlooking condo. It lingers and retreats.
A pause, a moment where the world eases to a standstill. Then suddenly the downpour, the shimmering rainfall, a cloudburst spray from the twilight blue.
