The Courtyard

Two girls have climbed up the steps and sit along the broad arm
of the bridge. They are up quite high, but the sun is too, so there
is no danger. The sculpture hanging above the courtyard is ordinary
to look at and yet many tourists will find it in their photos when they
return home, it casts a large round shadow on the pavestones. Most
things I can see have a glare, it's one of those days, and everyone
comes outside to squint and make the most of it. Spring.
I'm sitting on the steps up to the bridge, so I'm in the way, actually,
of the pedestrians who end up passing close enough to me that
their legs almost brush me, the old grey material of one woman's
socks have a texture which I recognise from my high school
uniform. Two guys run through the square. It's obvious
they don't need to run and that they are not interested in
running as exercise, it's just another competition, another way
to use energy loudly.
The movement of birds close overhead has the sound of a page
quickly turned. Most of this was the same when I left, as when
I had arrived, the girls on the bridge, the shadow, the glare of
everything. I take my sunglasses off and put them in my bag
as I get up and leave.