The bench outside the village shop is empty.
The streets are empty.
The shop is shut; it’s nine o’clock and a full-day closing.
Monday.
Some say blue, some say happy.
Either way it’s cold and the bench is damp.
Rain emptied the skies last night and filled the puddles.
He sits despite the wet, and reads.
Three chapters.
Then - too cold, blue even - he sits in the car and reads one more.
Good book.
But his back hurts, he needs to walk.
But now there is no time.
Tomorrow maybe.
The day after perhaps.
On Thursday he hopes to swim.
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