When I posted the haiku the other day, it was the result of this entry in my continuing diary. I'll post more as I can, conditions permitting:
6.30am. The overture to daylife in Linfen is played with household hammers on major building projects. Cicadas sing gently in madrigal phrases. The irregular rhythm of the builders’ hammers gradually joins the first honking vehicles of the morning, various toots on a full range of flutes. The street vendors put out their vegetables and fruits and squat beside. A few have weighing machines for basic conversion of goods to cash. There seems no hurry here, no anger, no overt competition, no conflict between the workers and the bosses. The town grows daily, and the shops change hands overnight. One man is gone from the streetscape. I heard tell that he wrote an anti-government message in his shop window and was not there the next day. A new shop has opened there now, selling fashion for young ladies.
By 8am the town is a bustle, going about its business. A pale grey smog hangs in the air which a light morning breeze seems incapable of shifting. Three mature citizens sweep away the remnants of last night’s fireworks with straw brooms. They dye the gutter waters pink.