At the Edge of Town

I like to wander to the edge of the town. There, life feels different. The noise behind me softens into a distant hum, the shouts of traders, the endless honking of buses, the rhythm of feet rushing in all directions. It’s like walking out of a crowded room and suddenly finding yourself in a hallway where you can finally breathe.

Here, the tarred road loses its shine. Cracks split the surface and weeds push through on each side. The last row of houses sit there uncertainly, like they can’t decide if they’re part of the town or part of the wild. Some are brightly painted, others are unfinished, their blocks left bare against the sun, covered in moss. Some are bent a little and probably weary from too many seasons.

At one corner, a kiosk greets me even before its owner does. The woman behind it sells biscuits, sachet water, and roasted groundnuts. Her umbrella flaps against the wind, faded from the sun, yet she sits there smiling, waving at passersby. I don’t know her story, but her presence alone feels steady, like a landmark at the town’s edge.

Children run across the dusty stretch barefoot, raising little clouds that cling to their legs. Their laughter rings into the open fields, the kind of laughter that reminds me that joy does not always need reasons. A herd of goats shuffle past me, chewing leaves with a calmness that makes me wonder if they know secrets we don’t. Nearby, some motorcycle riders lean against their seats, waiting for passengers. Their faces carry patience and sometimes anger.

Whenever I find myself at the edge of town, I sometimes think it isn’t just a physical space. It’s a threshold. Behind me lies the pulse of life, chaotic, noisy, full of responsibility. Ahead of me lies the calmness of farmlands and bush paths that twists into the unknown. The edge holds both and in that in-between, I feel caught in a rare kind of balance.

Maybe that’s why I keep coming back. At the edge of the town, I can hear my own thoughts. I can slow down without feeling like I’m missing out. I can stand still and feel both endings and beginnings tug at me.

The edge of the town is more than a boundary line. It is a pause, a breath, a place that asks me quietly “Do you belong in the chaos you’ve left behind, or in the silence that waits ahead?“

^{my response to the freewriters dailyprompt}