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 A 500 year old tradition.

Light in the morning. The cool dryness of stone. Flowers in the child's hand. Powder blue wellies on the feet. A long green cloak embroidered with flowers. Men in robes, ladies in straw hats. Limp oak leaves on a rucksack. A disparate group, but together for a single purpose - upholding tradition.
A collage of colleges. Warm honey stone under morning skies. Neat grey shadows cutting bright green grass. Cherries remembering their predecessors.Cold marble holding aged books, watched by a stone ghost.  Beautiful corners and secrets. A dripping fountain in flowers.

Chalk marking stone, cross upon cross. A mark of the year, some faded, some gone. A renewal of time, a step out of time. 

Songs in the squares, faces at the window. Bright sweets from the sky. A ladder up a wall. Cones in the darkness of wood. Bright lights from the glass, spilling colours over the stone. 

There is a reason for tradition. 


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
May. 2nd, 2008 01:49 pm (UTC)
Lovely writing, as always. You have such a way of getting at the essence of things. :)
May. 2nd, 2008 05:00 pm (UTC)
You do write such lovely posts :-)
May. 2nd, 2008 05:19 pm (UTC)
Tradition is its own reason.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )