Sundae

The morning came gently, the way it often did in late spring - without urgency, without noise, as if the world itself had decided to stretch before speaking. Sunlight spilled across the small street in soft, slanted lines. It touched the rooftops first, then the windows, then slowly made its way down to the pavement where it shimmered faintly like water. Somewhere in the distance, a bicycle passed, its wheels clicking in a steady rhythm that faded as quickly as it arrived.