The boy walked slowly down the cobblestone street, staring down at his feet so as not to trip. Rome was quiet this early in the day, and he didn't want to interrupt. Not yet. The city needed her peace, what after such long days with such loud, busy people. The boy wanted to let her rest her eyes, and her ears, and her heart.
These last few minutes, before he pulled out his bugle, before he woke Rome and her children, were he favorite. He climbed the ladder to his little tower and looked out over the buildings. He had to squint to make out some of the roofs farther out, but the first rays of the sun broke against the cathedral domes and monuments. He loved that, loved to imagine himself standing in the shadows of those great buildings for the whole day, the shadows never diminishing, never getting washed away by the light or the people.
But then the clock tower sang, and with a sigh and heavy heart, he took out his bugle and blew. When he was done, he climbed back down and reminded himself that at least his next favorite moment was only a day away.
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