As voices cry out with a yearning to be heard across every inch of the land, from the rolling green countryside to the bright bustling heart of the city. I often wonder who listens to these lost souls, these echoes that radiate fear.
All that it takes for fear to succeed is for good people to do nothing.
Another beautiful, buzzing day in Paris. The smell of freshly baked bread, croissants and all manner of pastries lingered through the air for all to enjoy. The sound or people conducting the symphony of everyday life travelled from street to street, though the same cannot be said for what was about to come. It was on this evening I had planned to take Rene out to the countryside to our spot if you want to call it that for a relaxing picnic, under a golden oak tree that cast a perfect shade upon a little stream where we could get lost.
Rene did deserve a relaxing evening away after having been up at sunrise every morning, never appearing tired or drawn but very much alive and full of light. Just like the city its self she brought light into my life and Paris gave her boundless energy as if they were one in the same.
Hurry up and get the next order in the oven, it is easier to get the flour to rise than you that was the familiar sound that greeted me at 6.30 am every morning, at least this time I wasnt for getting a stale loaf to the back of the head as had been the case before. Today was a big day for both Rene and I, we were delivering some of our finest work to a local music fair in which the whole northern block of the city was going to be in attendance and a chance for us to impress the well to dos and upper classes.
We began to set up our stall and the 1939 festival of lights at least on paper was lining up to be a magnificent event, with music, food, community and hey about time you guys got here. A familiar voice greeting us through the crowds could have been mistaken for none other than Pierre one of Paris finest jazz musicians, someone I had come to call Friend since my moving to Paris he had made me feel at home in the time since I left my beloved emerald isle. Pierre must have been there early to check out the venue to make sure everything was perfect.
After a quick catch up with Pierre, Rene and I finished setting up our stall and managed to steal a moment to catch a glimpse of the morning sun peering over the city. It seemed all to unreal that anyone would ever want to leave this place, though I should not be too quick to judge as I far from home myself.
As the crowd continued to grow, I could see all manner of people arriving. In their privately driven cars that had people to open and close the doors for them, looking like they never done a days work in their life and like they could do nothing for themselves.
As the afternoon pressed on the band started, the beat picked up and the air once calm and still was now alive with the sound of music, the drums commanding thunder like attention, the bass steaming along like a locomotive and then Pierre and his horn filling the clear blue sky with notes that the angles themselves would be envious of. During all the excitement, I near tripped head over heels not for the music but for my eyes being fixed on Rene if only she knew how I felt, then I could be free.
The busy atmosphere did not stop Rene letting out a slight giggle and half creased smile, which made my trip little less embarrassing after that.
While all the excitement was going on it was hard not to overhear what I had assumed to be idle chatter but with a recurring theme
they are getting closer my friend up north says they are
why would they come near us we hold no quarrel
I have heard there is an entire army of them
I passed if off as fools yarn and focused my attention on Rene or rather selling what was left of the bread.
