A face is where roads meet. One road cannot make a city. It takes many roads to make life a fiesta.
A face is where rivers meet. It is where times meet. Each person is a marketplace.
On days when there is a hint of a rainbow in all things, do you not sense that buildings that have sustained our gaze begin to look like us?
Through those invisible greens and purples in the air, we look upon some facade and see our faces there. Cities are portraits of our minds.
That portrait is best where a touch of silence surrounds the figure. On a building where three streets meet a delicate face is discerned. This face is made of all that dreaming, all that suffering. Beauty squeezed from time.
Life is a minaret. Life is a crowded square. A stock exchange. The winding shores of a river.
Life is also eloquent in the pastel of a street corner, where silence meets destiny.