A little golden girl walked from the hills with the morning sun in her hair .
At the road’s corner I see a shirtless man on the scooter , with the sacred thread that hovered on his hairless chest.
He is our temple man , our friendly intermediary between us and God.
His words were a mere drone in the temple loud speaker in the morning but surely the power of his words extended beyond the earth’s borders.
He has a belly round as God’s earth, with cosmic incantations in them for calling down thirty million gods from the sky.
It was his words and flame and water that connected us to our monkey god.
Later in the day a lonely worker chipped away at the neighbor’s roof .
He was repairing a leaking roof that stood between the sky and my neighbor when the sky poured torrents of rain on his head.
The sounds of his relentless hammer-beats echoed in the hollow afternoon .
The sounds were interspersed by a yellow bird’s tireless notes.
The notes came from our dead standing tree which was still hosting beautiful yellow birds ,while awaiting its final execution by the municipal Axe.
In the afternoon ,one heard a loud explosion in the distance which rattled our windows and set off bunches of cawing crows from the sleeping trees.
It looks like another mountain is dead in our neighborhood.