A Monday morning devoid of the morning rush and madness that I have not known for a long time.
I awake as my dog talked in his sleep and my niece making her Monday blues known and heard.
Eventually, the little lad lugged all her gear and led the way to school. I did her bidding and she did mine like wardens do as we watched each other every step of the way because we couldn’t hold hands. People did not pace to overtake but turned to watch if we were safe.
Halfway down the road, the little one introduced her grandmother’s friend, like I was new to the neighbourhood. Mothers and grandmothers huddled at the coffee shop over coffee, tea and toasts and spoke about anything under the sun. They couldn’t care less about the hands of time but they cared more about what they saw. People didn’t just sit there to watch but came forward for an act of service. One caught me peering in and offered to open the door, while another brought breakfast to my table.
Stall vendors greeted across the tables, “How do you do? What would you like today?” Patrons were like friends they did not know by names, but by the looks of the familiar faces.
Next to me, a Malay boy faithfully hand-kissed his elder as he arrived and left table.
I left for home, humbled and thankful for those who extended their hearts and hands.
Thereafter, I came home to a loving dog yelping excitedly at the sound of my footsteps, as if I left for long.
A temperate morning of warmth and sunshine. A graceful morning by the grace and goodness of the gracious. A beautiful morning of beautiful people with beautiful minds.