Maple Goodness

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Whipping wind, licking rain
Cobblestone streets replete with kindly pushing people.
Soft riffs of a violin play
Street performers are making their scene;
Kids yank parents pant legs wanting to watch.
Vibrant aromas of fresh baked bread and sweet crêpes;
You can taste the aged wine of a drunken man’s breath that lingers in the cool air.
Clydesdales pull carriages,
Tourists blind you with the flash of their camera.
An artist captures the essence of the alive city in a sure stroke of his brush.
Fountains spill water,
Maple leaves float gently to the ground below their towering branches.
I try comprehending the tongue of the French’s language;
Being thrown back and forth with a Canadian twist.
Hands jumble coins;
Sifting to find the exact change for a sweet maple sucker from a vender’s cart
The jewel of the city twinkles as the sleepy sun goes down for a long days rest.
Crowds shuffle down to the vacant lot to enjoy an act from Cirque du Soleil
Chants call out from awed voyeurs’ soaking in the endless night.
The lights go down, the people return to their places;
Awaiting another bustling day of tomorrow.





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