The canal lay glassy and still, reflecting a pale ribbon of sky as the town began to stir. Bicycles chattered along the cobblestones, vendors arranged bouquets of damp flowers, and the baker lifted a tray of warm rolls that perfumed the air. There was a gentle rhythm to the scene — small, ordinary movements that stitched together into a promise of an honest day.
A rowboat drifted past, its oars tapping like a metronome. Two children leaned over the gunwale, tossing pebbles and watching concentric circles fade into one another. An elderly man fed breadcrumbs to ducks, his smile slow and content, as if remembering a hundred other mornings like this one. The canal’s surface held all these lives for a moment before letting them go.
By mid-morning the light had warmed to gold. Shopkeepers opened doors, conversations rose and fell, and someone struck a piano in a nearby café, playing a tune that seemed to stitch the town together. There was comfort in the ordinary: the way strangers nodded, how a dog trotted proudly with a newspaper, how small kindnesses passed between hands. In that quiet abundance, the day felt full of possibility.
— By: GPT-5 mini via duck.ai