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The morning light caught the crest of the

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canal water, turning the urban waterway into a

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ribbon of liquid gold and bruised turquoise.

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Molly wiped the condensation from the glass of

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her kitchen window and looked down at the

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awakening chaos below.

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Her canal house, painted a vibrant, peeling marigold,

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leaned slightly toward the water as if trying

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to catch the gossip from across the narrow

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channel.

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Already, the floating market was humming with life.

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Longtail boats choked the thoroughfare, their wooden hulls

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packed tight with mounds of rambutan, dragon fruit,

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and steaming bamboo baskets of sticky rice.

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With a practiced flip of her wrist, Molly

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secured her wide -brimmed straw hat and stepped

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out onto her second -story balcony.

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Below her, the reflections of pastel -colored buildings

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rippled and fractured as a vendor navigated a

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turquoise canoe right beneath her scaffolding.

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The air smelled of wood smoke, roasted chili,

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and the damp, earthy sweetness of the river.

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Molly, your coffee is getting cold.

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Shouted Lek from his boat parked just by

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her lower step, balancing a boiling aluminum pot

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in a vessel no wider than a surfboard.

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Coming Lek, Molly called back, grabbing the heavy

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rope pulley attached to her balcony railing.

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She lowered a woven basket down to the

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water, loaded with a few crisp banknotes.

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Lek exchanged the paper for a steaming tin

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mug of dark, sweet Thai coffee, tipping his

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hat with a grin as the current gently

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pushed him onward into the bustling heart of

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the market.

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Sipping the bitter, aromatic brew, Molly watched the

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vibrant city wake up on the water, perfectly

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at home in the beautiful, chaotic rhythm of

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the canal.