The morning begins with the women — the market before six o'clock —

The market just past dawn is already fully alive. Though it's not yet six, vegetables are piled in mountains, fish leap, and the ice has begun to melt. Just walking past, voices fly out: "Sis, sis, come on over" "Buy something, won't you" Not coaxing voices—lively ones, from the pit of the belly. I sometimes steer my walk toward the market just to hear these voices. Not so much to hunt for seasonal goods, but to soak in the morning's heat. The eateries are busy with preparations, and next d

What a lovely view~

And today, I wandered a little deeper in. Past the fresh-produce lane, the air suddenly loosens. The rice shop, dealing mostly with regulars, feels somehow laid-back. Sipping coffee out front, chatting with the women from nearby shops. Laughter spills over. And then— One older woman sits silently, gazing at a computer. She's perched on a low stool, the mouse on another little stool just like it. A laptop, right in the middle of the market. A bit mismatched, yet oddly fitting

Lively voices, and the quiet click of a mouse. Both belong to this town's morning. The market is already in the middle of its morning. I'm still standing at its edge. Relocation-Life Ranking