Waking to church bells and garbage men slamming the containers to the ground.
Rolling wheels of the street cleaner's cart.
The bubble of the tea kettle in the kitchen followed by the water being poured into a mug.
A flush of the toilet and the shower running.
The pop of the toaster.
The merchants setting up the marché.
The smell of roasting chicken for sale.
A whiff of bread from the bakeries.
Pine tree smells from the trees lining the street for the holiday.
Greetings from friends we pass.
Footsteps and chatter of the people walking thru the marché.
The sheer joy of being here is endless.
I am alive.