500 Words on a Photo

Writing Assignment: Write 500 words or so, based on looking at a photograph of your choice. The writing must be about what cannot be seen in the photo, about an inner story suggested by the photo, based on the photo, etc.

It was a beautiful autumn morning, full of soft, warm light with a fresh breeze filling the air with just a taste of the ocean. Most mornings, I barely noticed such things, rushing as I did to get to work, run my errands, and keep up my life. It was the busiest time of year for me and I had much to do.

Every morning as I rushed to work, I passed by the man who sat in the courtyard. Sometimes, I saw him being assisted down the stairs by a younger woman, perhaps his granddaughter. On especially fine mornings, like this one, the young woman (a girl still, really) always made sure to find the warmest spot in the yard. She spoke to me once, as I passed them in the courtyard, smiling in greeting.

However this morning the man was alone. He sat in a patch of sunshine, the rays slanting as they do at this time of year, with the late-blooming foliage of fall delicately shaded about him. There was something about him, the way his face was thrust out to greet the sun.

I realized with some shock that the man must be blind. His eyes gazed out into the morning sun without faltering, but his ears were attentive, twitching at the sound of a truck rumbling by, the sound of a woman’s laughter coming through an open window. He just sat in the sunlight, listening to the passing traffic, rubbing his hand over the rough stone texture of the bench he sat on.

Emboldened by his blindness, I studied his face. He sat forward, leaning slightly into the sunshine, neither smiling nor frowning, with eyes wide open, staring, seeing nothing. With some surprise, I noticed his face had relatively few lines and that the skin was still quite smooth in some places, at odds with the age I had mentally assigned him. His habitual stillness and the helpful girl had misled me.

As if we had been chatting together this whole time, the man spoke to me across the courtyard. His voice was a deep, rich bass with a musical lilt to his accent. He spoke so naturally to me I found myself moving towards him and sitting beside him on the rough stone bench without a second thought. He did not turn towards me and together we sat in the sunshine, framed by delicate autumn foliage.

And then he began to sing. What a glorious voice this man had. Like him, it was neither old nor young, but replete with something I had lost and had forgotten. In the warm sunshine of a beautiful autumn morning, a blind man sang to me.

Oh take me back to the days when I was young

When the light was warm and soft and not yet done

Oh take me back to the days when I was young

Take me forward to the day

When my hair is old and grey

Take me forward to the day

When the jewels of youth I may exchange

For pearls of wisdom, a crown of age

Take me forward to that day

It was a beautiful morning that I have never forgotten.