The Village

The Village

The village fete that year
Was awash with every celebrity
The people had ever known
They were all from the village
And in their own right
Had the richness of knowing
Just how much they belonged

Across the village their stood a man
Waiting tentatively for the bus
His mother and father had said goodbye
With endorsements of pride
And a cheery message of hope
He stood there waiting
His bags full of the dreams of his soul
His body a quivering mess of unfolded clothing
His smile a retraction of fear

“Where are you going old man”
The bus driver yelled out
Startled the man looked around
40 yards away was his tent
Where he had lived this past 30 years.
“I’m sorry” the man said
“I won’t be travelling today.
Maybe tomorrow”
The bus pulled away
And the man put back his bags

A young girl on her way to the fete
Ran up to the old man
Her tears the only expression on her face.
She took his hand and whispered in his ear
“Come with me to the village fete
And I’ll hold your hand for the rest of your life”