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Bernard JOLY wrote: > > On the village green, a group of children is playing football just after > school. They have piled up their school bags against a wall, and use their > jackets as goals : the eldest kick around the small ones who shout here and > there, and the girls remain chattering apart. The plane-trees shadow turns and > merely lengthens. > > Sitting on an old stone bench, an old man gazes at the landscape, without > uttering a word. He has slow clumsy gestures, but he is not motionless. One > can even see his foot moving to and fro, and the owner brings it back under > the bench, with the same gesture of his arm. > > The player shooted, pulled his arms up as victory, and the goalkeeper ran > after the lost ball, which rolled towards the bench and came to a stop before > the old man. The child stopped there waiting, half through shyness, half > through curiosity. The man tried to bend down, but his hand stopped before it > could reach its goal, and set up trembling. He looked up towards the child, a > faint smile vanishing on his wrinkled face. > > "I almost fell down, boy !" > > His voice sounded muffled, a bit thick. The child did not understand quite > well : he had never before seen an adult like this old man. Maybe he is sick ? > > "Are you sick, Sir ?" > > "Itıs allright boy, Iım OK..." bernard, I like this story, kind of a bummer tho. lisa