Bright light flooded the eastern horizon at an early morning
hour.
A blur of mists surrounded the woods in the middle of the
park, and the air stood heavy of dew.
The skies glowed in a yellow shade over its gray clouds, as
the sunrays chased every sneaking shadow away.

The pale grass seemed flawless and soft at the touch of the
dim light, so inviting with its fresh green leaves, standing
tall, greeting another day.
The silence that rested over the park did not seem
intimidating, even though it should have, for no bird sang a
song in the new day's honor, and no sound of flickering
wings was heard.

Alone stood a bench at the foot of a small hill, covered
with dew - a gift from the departing night.
Not far from the bench stood a gate, an opening to the world
outside of this garden, showing a glimpse of gray buildings,
dark windows and black roads, leading somewhere. Elsewhere.

No car was there to rub its wheels against the virgin paved
roads, which lay naked in shame, not useful nor needed. No
passer by trailed on the cold pavements, leaving
sound-prints of a steady step.

The buildings soaring so high above the roads, yet routed
next to them, stood still as the light climbed down on them
slowly, tickling their tops first and then melting lower to
reflect in their dark windows.
Up high on top of one building, as gray as the rest, stood a
statue of a man. It wasn't a big statue, yet its appearance
stated power and strength.  The statue was of a man holding
a flute in his hands, putting it to his mouth and playing an
unheard tune.
But the eyes of this statue stood shut, not a glance at the
architecture beauty that was spread beneath it. Even the
still ones would not behold this man-made wonder of a
habitat.
And maybe that's the way it should be, for only empty
streets would greet the wandering look.

The sun rising now, reveling itself from behind the clouds,
was spreading its warmth over the land. But there was no one
to keep warm, nothing to lit or bring light to.
Only words of a poem written in black on a wall:

    We were, and we left with the tide,
    It wasn't here, what we seek and wish to find,
    We left, this is not a mirage and we do not hide,
    And no one was left behind