seven o'clock

It's seven o'clock in the evening on St. Joseph's Day, or Fathers' Day. It was a really lovely day: sunny but windy. I went for a run by the river past the many orange groves that lay just outside the city center. And when I came home, I went up to the roof and watched the clouds drifting opposite directions across the sky.

Now I can hear the church bells ringing over Gregory Alan Isakov, floating in my window with the cool spring air. The sun has gone down behind the light yellow steps that are the roof of the apartments that face me. And the laundry gently sways in the soft wind.