A hilltop. A suburban hilltop.
A thick settlement, houses edged precariously almost leaning on each other.Narrow winding cobblestoned roads run amock carelessly zigzagging towards beautiful tree lined cul-de-sac villas.
She walks up the hill wearing black shoes, a blue cardigan and white capri running gear. It is a beautiful summer evening. The wind is non-existent and the air is so humid she can hardly breathe. She looks up in anticipation.A few white clouds make their presence felt. A few conifer pines on the pavement. She carelessly kicks a dry, parched one. It goes flying right across the street, over the high metallic copper gates and into the cynical old man's bungalow. She doesn't know what startled her more, the ferocity of her own kick or how parched the pine cone really was to fly that high.
She smiles. The heart races for a brief second. She looks skyward and catches that first drizzle of summer rain.
She closes her eyes. She inhales.
