These Streets

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These Streets

We have walked these streets arm-in-arm these past decades of marriage – arguing, laughing, living. Carried fresh bread and morning flowers up flights of worn stairs to our bolthole above the rooftops; back down to our one o’clock corner table, a stroll in the spring rain with the scent of Horse Chestnut flowers, a quick nightcap.

Now you sit huddled behind the shutters. Too cold, you say. But bravery is not the absence of fear. So sweep up the broken glass, hose down the cobbles; I will walk these streets still.

They are my streets; this is my city, my life.

MJ Lewis©2015

Thanks to our Friday Fiction host, Rochelle congratulations on the new book. Thanks also too to C.E. Ayr for the photo and to all who visit. For a hoard of stories from around the globe click here.

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22 thoughts on “These Streets

    • Thank you for visiting. In the face of these attacks I personally find it easier to respond with a piece of fiction than a piece of political wisdom – but we do need real wisdom as well as resilience and hope. Today my thoughts are with the people of Belgium, but also the Muslim community who are experiencing abuse in the streets just outside my door here in London before and since these attacks.

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    • We have some lovely Horse Chestnuts in our local park and on certain Spring days the candle-shaped blossom smells heavenly.
      I only noticed the trees in Paris one Easter when we visited and my son took against the Metro. So we took buses and had a much better view of the streets, including avenues of Horse Chestnuts. Don’t know what they are called in French or if French children play conkers – an old British sport that is sadly dying out.
      In Anne Frank’s diary she wrote in April 1944, ‘April is glorious, not too hot or too cold, with occasional light showers. Our chestnut tree is in leaf, and here and there you can already see a few small blossoms.’ Not sure if it was a Horse Chestnut tree Anne could see out of the attic window in Amsterdam, but certainly that tree represented a sign of hope in Anne’s true and sad story. So sad that she never walked her city streets again.

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