peppers, garlic and onions, bubbling in butter
their aroma fills the apartment
with the rising sun
a string of pink fire lights the horizon
sky
a flash before becoming soft and
bluish—white
the street is quiet...so quiet
I can hear the gears turning
in the empty bus rolling by
we are on quarantine-time
the birds have noticed
fox and coyote too
fewer humans to contend with
fewer cars and people walking
fewer things to fear
I imagine them praying
as the sun climbs into the sky
everybody please stay home
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