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