Simple. The view from our balcony is simple. Forest fire smoke scents the air. Shirtless Ukrainian refugees sit on wrought iron, sucking cigarettes in the evening cool even as mamas stroll baby carriages or strollers. City swallows wheel, “screeing” at the joy of flight. Municipal trams rumble into the local stop, and away on the other side of this five story Communist construction. Children clamor on obligatory playground equipment, kindergarten cares their only burden. Neighborhood matriarchs water their tiny flower refuges. Sun settles; swallows scree. The silhouette of dark chokecherries hasten summer’s demise; but not yet, not yet. The richness of evening rests in this “not yetness”, this “summer is upon you, summer is stealing away” feeling which soothes the soul even as it harries the mind. Our favorite street doggies are quiet, trams roll, babies roll, sun rolls into twilight . . . into the scree of swallows.