And as Zayla rolled slightly to one side, still fast asleep

a bicycle laden with a stack of neatly folded newspapers

maneuvered it’s way around the corner

at the end of her street

The pebbles beneath its tires crackled as the delivery boy made his way

past mailboxes numbered oddly from seventy three to seven,

paper bundles being tossed towards doorsteps with well practiced precision

A chorus of birdsong began to stir among the tree branches,

and a thin line of orange and gold appeared along the horizon,

followed by a glorious ball of sunlight

But still, Zayla slept