Lyrical

This light as I dropped C at work took me straight to France in some small town square with barely anything moving and the shutters of the buildings closed against the afternoon heat.
I half expected that if I waited a while, some old boys would appear and make their way slowly to the square for a game of petanque and a pastis, discussing the local politics of the day, watched dispassionately by old widows, their gnarled fingers working pieces of lace.

Bench 322