Dawn
The smell of fresh coffee wafted to the balcony where I stood mesmerized by the dancing shadows. Budding roses in a pot trembled to the caress of a breeze. A bank of fog lightly veiled the silent sky above but I could feel it, rain was coming our way. I gulped my coffee, put on cotton pants, a t-shirt and a pair of old trainers and descended the stairs two steps at a time. Glancing at my watch I walked briskly toward the park. It was dawn. The city woke up yawning. As a wet cold fell over my shoulders I hastened my pace and winced in the drizzle. A mourning dove, then a few, hence a dozen followed by a covey from here and another from there cooed and took to the air. The fluttering of wings awakened my dream of a peaceful existence, of hope, and of freedom. Birds were meant to fly not to shed feathers in a cage, no matter how big the cage is and irrelevant of the goodness of the keeper. I stood still and stared at the soaring flock, drops of rain blinding me with ecstasy. I lo