The Plaza

                                             

The Plaza

    The Plaza swarms with people.  My ears are abuzz with the sound of many languages melded with the calypso melodies blaring from the loud speakers.  Jubilant vendors sell their wares, eager to delight many with the exotic goods brought back from distant lands.
     
    I look down at the red brick roads that my dainty feet trod upon.  In some spaces, patches of greenish cobblestone replace areas were brick had once been.  I stoop down and touch the ground.  It feels like I have been burned by the fire of the sun and  I jerk my hand away.  I long to escape the hustle and bustle of the plaza. 
   
    There is a picnic area shaded by maples where I can take refuge from the summer heat.  Families lounge on patchwork quilts or in cabana chairs, escaping the sun's glare, under the protection of the maples’ strong branches.  They feast on cold chicken and sandwiches, watermelon and cantaloupe they carried with them in wicker baskets.  Everyone looks happy.
   
    I decide not to take a break. I quicken my pace.  Skillfully dodging long limbed ladies pushing baby carriages, I maneuver my way through groups of overly excited children, as I continue to make my way through the plaza.
   
    In the center of the plaza, stands a large fountain that depicts angels.  Water shoots from the fountain keeping many children cool in the summer heat.  It is the color of mother-of-pearl and the angels seem to dance above the children as they play joyfully in the rain of the fountain’s waters.
   
    As I pass through the center of the plaza, my nose is tickled with the variety of scents in the air.  Pungent spices, fruity perfumes, musky oils and fire grilled meats.
   
    I come to the edge of the plaza that stops at the the waterfront.  I peer out over the expansive river.  I hear speedboats in the distance, and as they come into eyesight, I watch intently as they cut through the water. 

    I close my eyes and imagine that I am a passenger in one of the boats. I feel the cooling tickle at the hairs on my arm and whisper gently through my hair.  The water’s spray dances on my parched skin rescuing me (if only for a moment) from the sun's death grip. There I stand. I am refreshed.

    After a while I turn and go; making my way back through the maze of movement.  The plaza still swarms with people speaking their many languages, more vendors have arrived and the children continue to splash in the fountain's waters. I am content to leave.  As I go, I smile at those who choose to remain in the electric embrace of the plaza.