Morning in Marion

It is 7:15 a.m. in the Blackbelt, and it is not time yet for the little frenzied sounds that the city makes.  A restless and engaging bird is chirping from the bursting oak as I sit on the bench on the south end of the Perry County courthouse, built before anyone still alive can remember. 

I am enthralled by the effervescent purity of the morning as it makes its holy rising, marshaled in on the wings of the dawn.  The sun is shining like a gold ring from just above the courthouse roof, a dull but not overbearing luster.  Rising above me, like giant redwoods, are twin Corinthian columns, already the product of rot and spoil, yet still retaining the loveliness of a former beauty queen. 

Flowering plants and hedgerows, green with red tops, provide a calming disposition.  A flock of birds parade by without pomp or circumstance.  The sun hits the green grass in a disarming way, challenging each individual blade to reveal its radiance and the depths of its full color, brightened, exposed, and pure.  The smattered patches of dirt are disjointed from the green grass; rocks, sticks, minerals, grit, soil, and concrete fuse together in this gentle outlay.  The quieting rhythm of clay tile of on the entryway, alternating dark to light, dark to light, gives means of support under the towering façade, rising some forty or so feet to its north.   Brick by white painted brick, the inestimable handiwork of hundred year old masters, is still evident and palpable. 

An American flag is calmly blowing in the Southern wind; the birds are speaking more purposefully now, more resolutely and urgently, as if they can hear the coming flood of the city.  The humming of engines arrive like Roman legions in the distance, charging ahead in proud rhythms.  Guiltily, sadly, I rise and let the sounds of the city overtake me, as I long to hear the peace that tomorrow brings.