The Shower Tenor

His pitch is perfect. The liquidity of his voice stronger than the gushing water, pressure forcing itself through the copper pipes, vibrating like a ball bearing. A devotional hymn covering the courtyard with steam, wall papering the darkness with a flowery melody. How beautiful the water falls, pitter-patter on the marble, it gives rhythm to the showering man's song. Now occupants of silhouetted trees chime in, an unrelated orchestration of effort to worship this morning. Today slowly unfolds with an overture of lyrics and dawn. I finish my cigarette and join in with a song of my own making. It's going to be a beautiful day.