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The florist came out with a scowl on her face and a mop to drive them away, and a flurry of gray feathers wafted into the air. Once more a flock of pigeons rose into the sky and flew across the square, settling in front of the flower shop. The bell in the clock tower rang four times.

But I knew before I entered the shop what I would buy: two strawberry shortcakes. On the counter behind the register was a roll of pretty orange and light blue checkered wrapping paper.Įverything looked delicious. Cakes, pies, and chocolates were carefully arranged in a glass case, and tins of cookies lined shelves on either side. It was my first time in the bakery, a neat, clean, modest little shop. There was no reply, so I decided to sit down on a stool in the corner and wait. You could gaze at this perfect picture all day-an afternoon bathed in light and comfort-and perhaps never notice a single detail out of place, or missing.Īs I pushed through the revolving door of the bakery and walked inside, the noise of the square was instantly muffled, and replaced by the sweet scent of vanilla. The mother hurried over to gather the child in her arms. A flock of pigeons burst into the air, and startled a baby who began to cry. A circle of children watched him, entranced. Squeaky sounds could be heard from a man off in the corner, who was twisting balloon animals. Everything seemed to glimmer with a faint luminescence: the roof of the ice-cream stand, the faucet on the drinking fountain, the eyes of a stray cat, even the base of the clock tower covered with pigeon droppings.įamilies and tourists strolled through the square, enjoying the weekend. Out on the square, leaves fluttered in a gentle breeze along the pavement. The sky was a cloudless dome of sunlight.