The balcony railing was
cold under her palms.
Below, the city hummed a
low, distant song. A
pigeon landed on the
ledge, tilted its head,
then flew off. The sky
blushed pink and gold,
slow as honey.
She breathed in the damp
air, smelled wet concrete
and a hint of jasmine
from the neighbor's pot.
Her mug of tea had gone
lukewarm, but she held
it anyway.
The day hasn't asked
anything of me yet.
She watched a single car
move through the empty
street, its headlights
pale against the growing
light.
And for a moment, nothing needed fixing.