I love the morning sounds of Paris,
whine of Diesels inching through narrow streets
clangs, thuds, grunts and bangs of refuse taken,
Green Men of Paris setting rhythm to the new day.

Swallows scooping their circles in mid-heaven
a cherished blue sky anointing above gray clouds,
buildings wearing their centuries of history
standing proud, facing day.

Tuned to Gregorian C, full bodied church bells
chime in tandem sustained assurance reminding,
and solemn bong of quarters preceding hours,
a dog's first whiff of street and full lunged bark.

Smells of coffee, cough,
and fumes of a first cigarette -
the taking care of personal business
when all is quiet.
Then clatter of shutters opening, scrape of boxes,
slams and grunts, greetings
to a neighbor across the street.

French sounds ending in -ons, voice hoisting.
Traffic beginning its honks and hum,
life quickening in flow.
A city in tune with surroundings
using what is given
sharing, choosing, adjusting,
taking, and giving back.

There is permanence to Paris and it all fits in.