A Talk

The girl was sitting in front of an art shop,
   talking with animation to a kindly old man who sat facing her.
I had paused during my afternoon walk in Assisi.
Such expression!
Such energy driving their words!
Their enthusiasm overflowed.
When I asked permission to photograph while they spoke,
   the white-haired gentleman readily agreed.
I sat on the pavement fifteen feet away and photographed quietly
   as their spirited dialogue continued.
They pressed their points to one another with great conviction.
Photography done, I stepped forward to thank them
   for allowing me this privilege.
"Very welcome," the man smiled.
As I turned to continue my walk, he suddenly said,
   "Do you know what we talk about?"
I said no, I did not understand Italian.
"Color!" he said boastfully, his eyes widening.
"This here my art studio,
   and my granddaughter says she will one day be
      an artist just like me.
So she tells me about her favorite colors, the best colors,
   what makes them best.
She talked most about all the different yellows she likes.
My granddaughter, she feels her colors!"

She feels her colors, indeed!
That's not a bad way to grow up, grow ripe, grow old.
Not a bad way to live.
Not a bad way to photograph either.