Call to prayer

Some day, I'll miss the call to prayer. A sound that seamlessly fills the air. A sound that I rarely notice begin or end. It's more of a sudden sense, a sudden realization. People are being called to prayer. Five times a day. Some day, I'll be going about a different life in a different country and I'll hear a song start up from a car or a hum from a passerby and my mind for some reason will hear the call. That's when I'll miss it. That's when my mind will see the palm trees, the way they shine back at the sun and drift through the breeze. And the mountains and how they fall into the sea, each natural space in between filled with orange trees or pomegranate trees or olive trees or ancient cities. And the smiles on my friends' faces, the way each of them talks, the way each of them walks. The stray cats, the stray dogs, their little homes on the streets. Spring and her thick coat of flowers, the air filled with bees, the air filled with prayers.