221. Istanbul

In that city, small shops formed hives of work and talk and tradition. Birds whirled, wheeled in flight, dove above dusty trees at dusk. Voices called, young and old. There was the voice of the boy in the alley calling for his friend, "Ahhhhh-maaaad!" There were the voices of the calls to prayer. That city was a place of tough vitality. Ferocity and beauty shone in dark eyes. Oh, yes, we recalled that James Baldwin loved it here. There was a seduction of breezes after the sun went down. In that city, acres of red-tiled roof-tops accepted light and heat, and people there accepted their lives, their condition-- for the time being. Hans Ostrom 2013