The flowers, candles and cards have been taken away and the shrine is no longer. But like the unease of The Small Street's residents, the melted candle wax is still stubbornly sticking to the sidewalk as a reminder of that terrible event.
As if to counteract this bad Juju, our neighbors, each in their own way have been making an extra special effort to beautify the Small Street. The Parishioners have planted flowers along the side of the Pentecostal church with the Rev himself, still in his suit and tie, lending a hand. Even Monsieur L. who's purely vintage house hasn't seen a repair in the last 50 years is finally redoing his front steps. Not to mention the numerous other neighbors who have been dotingly improving their front gardens or facades.
But by far the most glorious change of all is our Great Poet's new lounge ware. The already spectacular orange Caftan has been replaced by a red and gold silk kimono which the Poet, perhaps afraid of erring on the side of subtlety, pairs quite jauntily with a leopard print fur hat. Needless to say, the effect is arresting. And when the shining sun dances off his robe it gives him an other worldly glow that he will surely tell you is due to the fact that he is a POET and therefore deserves to shine. Interestingly though, this new attire has rendered him quite a bit less verbose, as if he is aware that if such a striking figure were to spontaneously break out in rhyme that it would altogether be too much for us mere mortals. So as we wait for the poems to return his lips, we are content to admire him from afar as the mere sight of him brings a smile to our lips.
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