Beneath buildings and soft green canopies,
Late spring sunlight spills across sidewalks.
Open coffee shops hum with conversations.
Over Kirkwood, music drifts from rooftop bars.
Magnolia petals gather, bright against stone.
I wander the streets like I belong, if only for a moment.
Nights feel longer beneath warm lamps and passing laughter.
Green returns to everything—and
The air smells faintly of rain, espresso, and freshly cut grass.
On quiet evenings, the whole city hums to life.
Nothing about this place has left me the same.
In open-air cafés, strangers feel briefly familiar.
Days soften into something unhurried.
I have only a short stay, but it stays with me longer.
And has taught me to appreciate the small things.
Nights linger in a gentle stillness, and –
A part of me remains, wandering those streets.