Following class in the small town, you linger, like a stray, intent to watch the shepherd secure his flock behind the blue door, to hear the church bells clang the hour, to see a couple of almost-fireworks shot into the breeze.
A yoked ox returns from the fields and two moto-taxis growl by as the wind picks up the perfume of fire. The other teachers have already returned to the city of noise, are gabbing their way back to their homes, but the only thing you have to do is wish a few neighbors a good evening and wait for the bus honking into darkness.
As you settle in your bus seat, you watch as all of it disappears: no loose dogs, no wide quiet, no more wind.
The bright city burns your eyes, threatens to crush you if he smells the town in your yellow hair again.