A mug of pure, chamomile tea. Turned on the Turkish lamp on our writing table and the faux Moroccan lamp above our credence table. Sat in the foyer watching compound tenants pass by. Now Lydia is sweeping dead leaves off the driveway and I love the soothing sound, like the sound of waves on a shore. 

Dusk is descending on  Cubao. A peaceful Friday evening.