Sunday Afternoon

The water touched my toes and I immediately felt a shiver down my spine. I stepped few meters back and looked at the cloudy scene where it was impossible to recognize the line between sky and water. Scattered surfers were floating like dead bodies waiting for a big wave. I shook the sand off my feet, put on the topsiders and rolled down my gray pants.

It was not very cold though, besides, the two hundred something stairs that I climbed up later to reach the top of the cliff made me feel somehow warm.

While the waterfront road was live with strollers, joggers and tourists, side streets were narrow, calm and almost empty. My exact favorite walking streets. Some of the few restaurants or cafés located here and there were open but with few clients. They must be the residents of the neighborhood, not the visitors who would prefer more vibrant spots. Houses with small green front yards and old rusty iron fences with anti-climb spikes were still able to survive amid the mushrooming and luxurious new high rises. It was quite, except for a passing car every now and then or residents occasionally getting in or out their houses.

Back home, afternoons were the meditative zone of the day especially in the long hot summer when windows' shutters got closed to keep the strong sun out, naps were taken for more than one hour and the house became dead silent. Lazy thick afternoons that introduced everyone in the house to the kingdom of sleep except me.

But this Sunday afternoon offered simple joyful moments. It looked me in the eyes, tapped on my shoulder and then disappeared in the crowd. And that was enough.