Silent streets

I walk the silent streets in the morning
my boot heel's clicking on the cobblestone
is the only sound.
The air is still
like the first of January.
Like the party fell asleep only a few hours ago.
Mallorca sleeps in the morning
there is no one around but the workers who get up at dawn are already in the bars for a snack.
The sun is still not up.
Neither am I, but I walk.
I think of how such a loud, boisterous place at night can be so eery and still in the morning.
It smells like wet wood, moisture, and orange blossoms.
Walks alone in the silence, like this one, are so loudly quiet.