Photo credit: © Adventures in the Wild
Cyril Rum, Angel on sabbatical, had long been intrigued by his neighbour Mildred Thrup’s claim of the wonderful Market vendors on the edge of town. He’d observed her coming home with bags full of fresh produce and waxing lyrically about the great bargains she had bought.
As an Angel, he had long been involved in things eternal and his time on earth had required a steep learning curve for him as he tried hard to understand the complicated ways of man.
But Mildred had piqued his interest so as it was early morning he took himself off on his walk but turned left this time instead of right. His change of direction took him past the old school where the market stall owners were setting up.
At one end of the row of stalls was a small stall set with a few flowers in old glass jars.
The stall, Cyril thought, looked a little bare and he stood and looked at it for some time. Behind it sat a little old man who was reading a book and unaware that Cyril was looking in on him.
Around him, the other stall holders were busy stacking their stalls ready for the influx of custom they expected to arrive soon.
Cyril being an Angel was not very good at social intercourse, for being an Angel didn’t need a lot of social skill to do the job, so he found it awkward to converse with people.
The old man looked up and saw that Cyril was standing there and remembered a time not so long ago when Cyril had been in his presence.
His wife of 60 years was dying and had been in a coma for some weeks, and he longed for an opportunity to say his farewells to her.
Cyril had come to his bedside, looked down on the grieving man and had placed his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
When he left, the old man looked down on his dying wife whose eyes were open, and he felt her grip his hand.
They said their tearful farewells, and she peacefully slipped away.
He never knew who the man was who came that day but here he was standing in front of his stall.
The old man stood and began talking telling Cyril about his desire to maintain his wife’s legacy of having a flower stall at the markets even though he admitted he never possessed the green thumb she did.
Cyril listened to his tale remembering the woman concerned and pleased he was able to do something to make her passing less painful.
When the old man had finished and had shaken Cyril’s hand, Cyril went off to complete his walk.
That day the old man sold a lot of flowers. Every time he turned around after putting his takings in his old cash tin the flowers would be there looking better than ever.
By days end he was exhausted and packed up his stall, feeling he had been blessed in some way and knowing that today was the last time he would need to man the stall as it was time to let her go and for him to live a little, especially as he had a few more dollars in his possession than he anticipated having.
Cyril was later visited by his neighbour Mildred who showed off her purchases and made mention of the old man’s stall doing a more than steady business.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/11/09/tale-weaver-145-the-roadside-vendor-november-9th/
Morpethroad 