The sky above was a soft blue, it was a new kind of light blue a cerulean that made you question the vase universe that lay so silently, so undiscovered above us. the sky was so clear, the sunny, beautiful desert sky that held a rare sighting of theses extraordinarily fluffy clouds above that got pushed gingerly across the sky by even the slightest blow of a breeze.
Slightly below the rich sky were the roofs of the big Arabian villas, there various shapes and patterns, contrasting with the now setting sun, some held a typical western style triangular shape, while others lay flat with a gorgeous garden on top. The architectural buildings looking as if they had just come out a beautiful painting, a work of cultural art. They were all so different and held their own beauty the only similarity these extraordinary homes shared was the same sandy beige colour that plagued the whole street, except one house, at once probably bright pink home now dull in colour due to the winter sand storms that blinded the eyes of people that dared to set out.
Below the roofs was a mountain of rocks of many different shapes and sizes, all the same creamy- beige colour Saudi Arabia favoured so greatly. The rocks tower over everyone who shuffles by, created by the builders destroying the ground to create a gorgeous masjid and a park in its place in the middle of the square of houses. A single rock tumbled down to the ground and a woman in a black abaya (Muslima clothing) that swayed in the wind eyes followed it till it hits the ground, you couldn't see her face, it was covered by a niqaab (face veil) but her eyes showed the small smile that lay softly on her lips as she slowly bent down to pick up the small uneven rock with the tips of her finger feeling its jagged edges before letting it roll into her palm leaving a thin trail of dust on her gloved hands as the admired it in wonder of its beauty. I wondered if maybe she could smell the fresh bakery next door? That one that I adored so much, always gifting our road with the sweet smell of melting golden butter undoubtedly the best smell on planet earth if the wind blows the right way. She would be unfortunate if it blows the wrong way and she got a whiff of the disturbing manure that plagued the air from the sheep farm down by the main road, or maybe it smelt like nothing, and along her walk, she appreciated the air for its cleanliness, for it being so fresh
Then there was the old shack the tiny substitute masjid that all the men who lived on that street pray at. The call for prayer (Aathaan) blared down the street emitted from the tiny speaker's on top of the brass roof. Signaling to everyone that the sun is setting its time to pray Maghrib salah, the yellow of the falling sun mixing in deeply with the orange and deep reds. The men of all ages, leaving their homes in pristine white thobes (Muslim clothing) and different kinds of thick brown sandals. Some of the men were old with a thick beard of silver-grey hair and small wise eyes, and others young enough to not have a single wrinkle in their brow. Neighbours, all making the same journey to worship the same god together. The pink sky changing the colour of the yellow dirt road stones. A car drove over the road the crunch of the tiny crumb size stones and the sound of the engine of the car speeding past getting drowned out in the clamour of the small shack and larger magnificent masjid that lived a few streets down the road in a dominance battle of which athaan will come out on top, who is louder.
Soon the athaan had come to an end and the only sound that remained was that of the men's sandals dragging across the pavement and slapping their feet as they jumped down onto the road and a once lonely small lizard tucked in a dark corner scurried to safety as a small kitten with a thin coat of black fur and a mischievous meow chased after it, the soft singing of crickets and the sound of whatever crept in the dark
~ So ik this sucks, probably my worst writing ever, but I decided if im going to bother to do homework i might as well get something out of it
