Abia stood at the end of her street.
The Eastern Point. The highest Peak.
They very tip-top.
The sun had grown tired and it’s eyes were closing over her city,
leaving blinks of blush rose through the setting skies.
Palm trees exhaled in whistles with the wind, mahogany darbuka drums echoed in the distance.
She looked down upon Merolas Favela (Shanty).
Children sat with their legs swung over porch poles, some in the dirt, playing with marbles.
Old Men swigged from flasks and played their hand at Truco.
Women pegged hand washed clothes on rope made with bamboo, hung from window to window.
From up here, Abia could see everything. It was dusk but Merolas was alive in all manner of colour, and she did not want it to change.
© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over a Shanty Town