A Painting
It's a quaint little street, bustling with tourists
Shops selling ice creams and coffees, sandals, and seashells...
People rushing, a bike or two in the street, a car searching for a place to park
A baby cries, and mothers wipe sticky faces....chatter, and laughter..
One small gallery, tucked descreetly, into the narrow cobblestone alley
A blinding ray of sun's reflection, catches my attention
The window display, filled with seascapes, antique sailing artifacts
And one small painting....sitting, poised, proudly on an easel...
At first the glare makes it hard to see
But I cup my hands around my eyes...
A lovely rendition of this very same village
Painted many years ago...long before tourists
Long before lattes and souvenirs...
Just a little fishing village...dated 1918
The houses wearing chalky patina,
Narrow lanes leading away from the main road,
dipping down into golden sand dunes,
A small general store and a blacksmith shop,
Seagulls gliding like angel wings against the summer blue
White steepled churches slumbering in the warm afternoon sunshine
The quietness, the peaceful nature of it....simple and serene...
And I think to myself, ...how extraordinary it would be
If I could freeze time for a day,
If I could pull it out and visit it...just once in awhile
If I could bring it back now and again....that peaceful afternoon...
Walk in warm sunshine,
Where the leaves would never fall from those ancient trees,
And the gentle slopes would never know the cruel blast of winter storms
Where tears had never fallen, where age was timeless
If time could stand still.....
I hears the tinkle of the bell, as I enter the shop...
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