Voyeurs

Bright clothed in printed Kanga cloth, large baskets balanced gracefully on heads. Limbs and bodies like stalks of grain in wind they moved in harmony and grace. Beside the dusty street, barefoot, white hair and beard, head bowed, eyes down in tattered clothes, his bundle set aside, he sat and waited for we knew not what. She sat alone, outside the shop where passers-by could see her toil, feet rocking on the treadle of her old machine, sewing clothes that other people wore. White shirt with frayed and ink stained cuffs, black tie, black shoes, and spectacles he sat, at wooden table, pen and ink at hand, to scribe for those who could not write. We walked the streets of this small town. We peered through doors and windows dark. We captured images on film and in our minds, but did not touch a single soul.
© David E. Moon, 2014  All rights reserved

Voyeurs

Bright clothed in printed Kanga cloth, large baskets balanced gracefully on heads. Limbs and bodies like stalks of grain in wind they moved in harmony and grace. Beside the dusty street, barefoot, white hair and beard, head bowed, eyes down in tattered clothes, his bundle set aside, he sat and waited for we knew not what. She sat alone, outside the shop where passers-by could see her toil, feet rocking on the treadle of her old machine, sewing clothes that other people wore. White shirt with frayed and ink stained cuffs, black tie, black shoes, and spectacles he sat, at wooden table, pen and ink at hand, to scribe for those who could not write. We walked the streets of this small town. We peered through doors and windows dark. We captured images on film and in our minds, but did not touch a single soul.
© David E. Moon, 2014  All rights reserved