Making Maypoles out of hollow columns

It’s not much of a spectacle from up here. My window is open a crack from the second floor of my hostel block; just enough to fill my nostrils with clean air, fresh and unalloyed. There is a sensual quality to the effect of the breezy air streaming through the window. I can almost sense the gravy coarseness of the sand beneath my feet and the warm air on my face as I pick corals and empty shells along the way. I almost always connect fresh air to the sea. I am a sucker for clean beaches, white sand and azure sky blending in one seamless horizon. There is something about the ordinary that stirs the imagination for something more. It’s what I seek this morning. Inspiration! There is no lush meadow in my sight, neither is the view from this vantage position any better than what you would observe from any Lagos suburb, but I have come to observe these morning nigglings with such religious regularity.
It’s that time of the morning when all is calm and peaceful. The weather is crisp and balmy and the cloud seems to be set for another downpour. My eyes are fixed on the street below while my thoughts navigate through the tasks set before me. Down below, human activity is finally getting worked up to a frenzy. I feel like a new born baby at the cusp of the world looking in at this gigantic hub of life, awed by the sights and sounds of life, the chilly breath of Dawn as it breaks from the nightly repose, the light giddiness of a new day before the legions of worries take over. Just looking at me now, you would think that I was the dutiful cherubim planted in the doorway of Eden. All is beautiful here and there can be no lurking danger, no deceitful serpent or damning tree. Today I stand here before this giant jigsaw and call out light from darkness; order out of chaos with the hope that dawn will bless me with many savory moments before the closure of the day.
The room seems to have grown darker. The light of dawn is gradually receding back into the cloud. I see a lightning flash swiftly across the sky just now. The thunderclap is a second away. Is another planet about to be born? Will it be the explosive bang for the concoction of a new life? I can tell the sky is heavily pregnant with rain.
It’s July. The sun appeared to have vacated the sky. The rain in its stead reign supreme, in light showers and heavy downpours .Presently, I tear my gaze away from the pouring rain and set upon my first task of the day.
It is on this plane of introspection that I kick off my day, ready to take on the world in all of its highs and lows, eager to make maypoles out of these hollow columns.

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