the blind venetian

The Blind Venetian.

The blind beggar walked through the winding streets of Rome. He was far from his home town, and had been wandering these parts for many years, begging and scrounging out a living. Now he begged near the city centre for bits of food and loose change, then he followed the old streets downtown where he slept underneath a bridge next to the river.

His days are filled with wandering and begging; he knows no other life. He clothes are old and tattered, and his face and hair rough and unkempt. He stops on top of a bridge as he his passing along his way on a late afternoon. He leans on the railing and listens to the world of darkness around him. No sight, but a million sounds and smells, all clear, distinct and discernable.

The dark waters ripple by softly underneath the bridge like the melody of ominous sounding harp. Birds twitter high up in their nests alongside the walls of the buildings. They fly by in singles or in pairs, and his ears can even follow the passing of their flight. A boat drives by further downstream, and its engine buzzes loud and low. People pass by and talk like birds singing to each other. Towards town comes the sound of traffic and occasional car horn.

He stands a while longer and listens as he leans on the bridges’ barrier. The October wind is mild and fresh to his smell and taste. The smell of home cooking drifts through the narrow streets like memories. He lingers just a moment longer, and then turns and walks slowly down the hard sidewalk of paved stone with his feet echoing softly off the street...