Wednesday 2 July 2014

That time of the year.



The city is summer, the city is empty – there are no students at the bus stop, no youth. School is out, they sleep.

There is a young boy heading to work with his father, the father in his black suit the boy in summer shorts and t-shirt. The man is striding, work upmost in his mind, the lad scurries trying to keep up - he is carrying a plastic bag. In the plastic bag there is a sailboat, he hopes to take it to the park at lunchtime.

A carousel has settled in the space between Rue Forchet and Avenue Grand Palais, it sits in front of the computer supermarket – neither are open yet.

The door to the bakers is open, sunlight reaches inside meeting the warmth of Jacqueline who serves the coffee and puts a croissant in a bag if you ask for one. She adds a piece of chocolate even if you didn’t.

The postman is wearing shorts.


The river is still. No winter storm troubles her gentle way towards the sea. The reflection of the bridge flows with her.

No comments: