173. Cat Wants Fish

173.

It’s Sunday. This must be a Christian enclave in Lebanon because village churches, which I have not seen, but must be scattered scattered along the canyon rim, all start ringing their bells. The sounds of the echoing bells blend into a single lovely chord; after the intimidating gunshot’s din, the soothing bell’s hum; Yin and Yang.

I break camp, pack and hike back up the canyon to the trail-head and to the little store. It is still very early but the store is already open. The proprietor offers me a cup of coffee and I watch with him two other old men and a cat as the village awakens.

Three beaming housewives escort a tiny girl dressed in black cap, cape and skirt into the store. One of the old men buys the child a piece of candy and gives her a hug.

I watch the spirits of these old men twinkle from eyes set deep in aging flesh. In a short lifetime this budding child will no doubt also be transformed into tired meat slouched in a rocking chair petting another generation’s child.

The black and white cat wants a fish from the ice-cream freezer.

I catch the little country-style carryall bus back to downtown Beirut where I find one of the taxis that carry passengers to Damascus. When the driver, wearing a yellow polka-dotted shirt, collects a car full of passengers, we depart Beirut and a few hours later drive into Damascus.