The Town Square

The Town Square

By

Ann M. Hill-Brixey

As I sit in the centuries old town square, a tantalizing aroma of newly baked bread mingled with the heady smell of freshly brewed coffee assails my nostrils. I sip my coffee in the cool morning air, watching bustling stallholders display their wares. Vegetables, meats, and freshly caught fish appear on stalls, all artfully arranged to appeal to the discerning eye of early-morning shoppers.

Cobblestones, still wet from an early morning shower glisten in the sunlight. Birds sing a sweet song from overhanging branches, while the cappuccino machine hisses in counterpoint. A scrawny mutt stealing a lone sausage; scampers off to devour it in the secluded safety of a courtyard. Nearby, a sleek black cat watches, dignified and aloof preening its whiskers in disdain. Such scurrilous behavior is far beneath him.

Containers of vibrant flowers vie for pride of place in the shade of honey colored arches. Churchgoers climb the time-worn steps to morning service, as church bells call. Vendors shout greetings to the stout, black-garbed matriarchs scouring the stalls for the choicest ingredients for the family noonday meal.  Young matrons parade in their bright summer dresses and highest heels. Meeting friends at the metal-topped tables, they exchange gossip over steaming cups of frothy cappuccino.

Late morning, the square is quieter now. Two old men in open necked shirts set up a chessboard, spectators gather, all are totally absorbed in the game at hand.  In the warm, sunshine, the game proceeds. Silence reigns supreme.

Across the square, on a stone bench, against a bougainvillea-bedecked wall, sit three old men staring intently ahead, like the three wise monkeys.   A long sigh, the silence is broken, a spirited discussion begins.  As on countless other days, they talk of other, better times. For these three, the story will be again replayed tomorrow.

With the approach of the evening, the friendly square takes on a different tone, and for a brief time, all is tranquil.  Only the sleek cat remains. From a high wall, he surveys his domain, while enjoying the lingering warmth of the late afternoon sun.

Shadows are longer now, radiating an air of expectancy. The soft sandstone buildings glow deep amber, in the light of the setting sun. The honey colored arches dark now, as shadows turn the passing day into night, and the sweet fragrance of night blooming flowers perfume the soft, velvety air.

 Soon it comes alive again, teeming with life. Young families out for a stroll; excited youngsters enjoying gelato cones, grandparents’ sit, nodding their approval. Young lovers meet in secluded corners, existing, as lovers everywhere, only for each other. For them, the world fades into oblivion.

Lamps are lighted; tabletops reverberate with the clang of glass on metal. Glasses filled with ruby colored wine, gleaming like rare jewels in the light of the setting sun, patrons sample the liquid nectar.

‘The Square,’ for centuries the heartbeat of this little town, embraces all who linger.