photo by Robert Doisneau
as told by Michelle Endicott
Her little feet rest on a cobbled street; its bricks uneven, sanded down with time. She is with two siblings, comfortably investigating the terrain. A baroque streetlight tall with its iron post bestows a glass lantern jutted forward from its corniced arm, guarding over her. It is daylight but the clouds have gathered in a blanket of grey and off white; dimming the blue sky. Narrow beams of sunlight peer through the shrouded sky painting the pavement in ghostly shadows. A light breeze, scented with baked breads and squalor grazes her face, blowing her curly hair backwards, gently closing her eyes; delighted to feel the wind. She does not have the words yet to understand the level of destitution that has nestled its way into her part of the city.
A constant smog lies permanently above the city as smoke rises from chimneys on top of buildings; some in livable condition, others decaying in place. A deteriorating low wall behind the dramatic streetlight crumbles in pieces; leaving small piles of sand and rock in the crevice where cobblestone meets the wall. In the distance, a leafless tree with its bony branches outstretched, stirs in the wind like an apparition leaving its grave for the night. She looks with wonder at the city before her-unknowing of the future. Only grateful the wind picked her to feel its whisper.
Thoughts from 3am 