The comics of Cazouls

Last day for a long time
here in this little place
that I know so well
to paraphrase the beginning
of Asterix et Obelix.

Each time is a journey
into the "comics" of Cazouls
its usual gallery of persons
The beginning - my neighbors
British are not your usual lot.

It expands to the Irishman
further down the street
I see him in summer - quite a hunk
young and a bit weird -solidly
charming and somehow caring.

The Canadian photographer
an artist in himself - having lived
the big life of 70 and 80ies
gone from a fancy ever-which-where
to a sad shadow of himself still holding.

The Lebanese couple on the corner
the man supervising everything
in summer and mostly winter
with his obligatory cigarette hanging
his wife a little mouse - yet feisty.

The Tunisian lady who is fully
maked-up to the nines always
impeccably dressed and ironed
always in skirts and silks stockings
yet she smiled and her spirituality shines.

The French fishmonger with a flair
for selling lowes arches like me
and we have great philosophical
and deep conversations about
almost anything from politics to sex.

Up the other way still in my street
although it has now another name
I walk past my favorite house
a true copy of Palladian villa
in miniature to the Norwegians.

These are a spacial breed of kindness
openness and just sheer joyful
integrating themselves deeply
in the village and its life
and remain truly a model for the rest.

To be continued