Writing Prompt for Magpie Tales

It is lovely and old, and reminds me of another time. The drums whack out a rhythm. Bodies dance in wild gyrations. It is dark, and images flash before my eyes. People fill the streets and there is a sense of anticipation. In secret places for months, people have practiced for this moment.

Chests are bear, many are wearing firemen's coats. White cloths tied, Indian fashion around their heads. There is no slowing down, the beat becomes faster. Food sizzles and spits in hot grease, a wonderful aroma fills the air.

Groups of musicians play their tunes. Crowds push trying to get in position to see, people join the dance. There is a crush in the street.

Quickly I am transported to another place and another time. I catch the bus, and take a seat. All is quiet, I join others, still a little sleepy, on their early morning journey to work. At last, I am the last on the bus, and the bus stops. I get off. I wander in the street. The sun shines. I hear the sound of a gong. I enter the garden, it is cool. I realize it is a funeral. Who was he? He is laid to rest, it is a peaceful garden.

I cross the street, I ask directions. And wander past the many shops. I am looking for one place, though it is in a different country, in a different city, it will be familiar. At last I find the one shop, I am looking for, have come all this way to find. It is a tiny shop, and the wares are neatly laid out, there is order everywhere. I have stepped back in time. I am greeted by a smiling face, we do not speak the same language, but the smile dissolves our difference. I gather the colors in small dishes, that have been ground by hand. All the colors of the rainbow, red, yellow, blue, orange, and purple. I dream of what I will draw with the colors. These colors in little pans will speak in another language, and all that will see, will know, that they are also lovely, and come from another time.