“I always find the same lot sitting on a bench, in their coats and boots…”
As I have mentioned before darling, I often take a walk first thing in the morning before doing anything else. I like to know that I have woken up before the peonies and most of the villagers. The shimmery shabbiness of my village is toned down during the early hours of the morning, without the light of the moon, but the grey and blue hues tingeing the cobble stone streets make for a warm sight first thing in the morning.
Donning a long coat and smoking slippers, I walk past the Cathedral, past the library and baker; I walk under trees with chandeliers hanging from them and head to the piazza to check whether the usual set of four men have woken up. I always find the same lot sitting on a bench, in their coats and boots, gesturing, nodding and waiting for the first figures to pass by.
I have walked past them before and, while nodding a good morning to all, I would always think how these men are letting life pass them by from this bench. Hearing their bursts of laughter one morning however, when it was too early for anyone to have the energy for such a burst, made me realise how much pain these men had gone through. It was a laugh that comes after tragedy and hardship.
It was here that I learnt that the reason why these old men sit on the bench every morning is not to see life pass them by but to be the first to witness the world unfolding.
Story credits: Image via Marie Claire – Auguste Abeliunaite by Taki Bibelas.