A man walks along a small creek. The weather is fair. It’s a clear morning and the air is cool but not cold. It’s perfect walking weather he decides.

What will he have for dinner tonight, he thinks. He’s already craving tea with just a hint of jasmine. Although he always has a craving for jasmine tea. He smiles to himself. If you asked his wife she would say that afternoon tea is what he looks forward to when he rises in the morning.

The creek babbles back in response to his thoughts. He crosses over the creek and steps on a piece of paper. Further on the creek is nearly dammed up with the little leaves of paper. Littering? Some people have no respect, he thinks. A buzzing overhead catches his attention. A bee? No. He squints– his eyes aren’t what they used to be. A plane? He turns back. Planes only bring fire. He had heard about Tokyo.  

He bends to pick up the litter and put it his basket.

A new sunrise. No. Brighter. The ground beneath his feet groans and shudders in revolt.
“Oh,” he mutters. He would never see another sunrise.


2 thoughts on “Sunrise.

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