poetinside

The rising sun peers out from behind the neighbouring mountains, hesitantly at first, her light barely illuminating the red clay houses that perch impossibly on the hillside. I know better than to fall for this modest play. In minutes she will be unable to contain herself, tipping over the mountain tops and spilling yellow down the slopes until the whole city bathes in her. I’ve seen it many times and yet somehow, at that last moment of night, I always draw my breath in fear that today she will remain hidden; today she will rest behind those hills in haughty disregard for those who never appreciate her arrival. But today is not that day. Today she comes in a caravan of colour and I tell myself she knows, she knows this is my last sunrise in this city, and like a jilted lover she has made herself more beautiful with the knowledge that I must leave her.