He closed his little book shop and starts walking down the long stretch of Esplanade, across the markets dyed in summer colours; fruits and flowers. A lonesome figure, slouched under the burden of pain. Hands in his pockets, gaze fixed nowhere. He walks on.
He doesn’t realize when the heat of the summer sun evaporates as a monotonous drizzle sets in. The world around him has turned a shade grey. Umbrellas appear all around.
He turns up his collar, puts on his winter coat.
Round the corner, the air is filled with the aroma of roasted chestnuts. The markets hued to a dark green as rows of Christmas trees come up for sale.
There’s the first hint of snow.
He comes to Park Street - a startling snowscape for the next hundred yards. By the time he reaches Mags, the snow starts melting. He crosses Peter Cat, unaware of the streaming crowd as people flurry. In the horizon, the citadel of the Loretto chapel break the expanse of the sky. It’s spring again.
The seasons have turned a full circle – and with them, life. The tide has turned, the time has gone. But he walks on. A lonesome figure, slouched under the burden of pain, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed nowhere. He’s a modern-day survivor.