Colorful Tiny World - Budapest

The Great Market Hall clock said it was already past four pm, but it was still boiling. The pillar of Liberty Bridge loomed over the Architect as though it were the Eiffel Tower; perhaps it bore the handiwork of the Master* himself, which is why he’s so fond of this bridge. He mused for a few minutes above the Danube as he strode toward the University. Every nail, every sheet of iron, was a friend. The slender steel arches wound bent left and right, back and forth; what could it be if not the old willow tree letting his feet, those tiny cast iron vines, hang into the water, little leaves high up, large avians perched quietly on the pillar peaks, resting forever. The vines grow beyond the treetops, and the steel dandelion parachutes of the railing float in the late afternoon’s orange skies as the wind off the Danube caresses the city. The roots of the bridge penetrate the thick gravel blanket underneath the water deeply. Walking along the embankment, the Architect noticed that the whole