It was a gloriously sunny day. Bright rays of sun shone from the heavens, illuminating the sky and the Earth. Bright green tree’s sparkled in the sun and stood with their arms high, trying to reach the untouchable heavens. Vast fields grew on either side of the dirt path. With the sun reflecting off this morning’s dew; the grass in the fields looked like polished emeralds. The great beasts of cattle that occupied the pasture grazed without any knowledge of the treasure trove they feasted on. With all this beauty surrounding us it feels like a true sanctuary. Today I am on another heart-pounding adventure; today father and I venture to the mystic market.
As my father strolled down this path of wonder on which we travelled, the cattle diverted their attention from their banquet to the man who walked down the path; he walked as if he owned the whole world. At the age of thirty, my father was a tall, lean man. At the moment he looked more like the farmer he really was instead of a former solider, he dressed in a light draw-string shirt that tucked into his dark brown breeches. His dark brown hair with flecks of blonde teasing at the tips; his blue eyes were as light as the sky on a clear cloudless day. He has a crocked nose from making a crude jest to his older brother at the age of 9. My father also had endless range of emotions; from kind and loving to the temperament of a hornet; and when this anger struck, along with the sharp angle of his chin, he could make a grown man shake in fear all to easily. Knowing this my father prided himself on not losing his temper, but today father was smiling so it likely to be a day of great joy if all goes well.
With my father’s giant strides I was practically running just to match his steps. Seeing this, a gigantic grin spread across my father’s face as he slowed his pace. We were nearing the village market and the sweet whispered secrets of the market were already being carried by the velvet touch of wind. Even with this excitement starting to form in the pit of my belly, the putrid smell of the ditches that connected to the town flowed on either side of the path. Smelling this made me want to lose my morning meal just from the smell of rot and decay; and I was sure if I saw what was in the ditches I was sure to lose my morning meals of that week. The luscious green grass of the fields were no more, they were slowly replaced by buildings and houses, waste and ditches. My father knowing the streets better than I; latched on to my hand to guide me to the day’s adventure.
At the age of 16 I was no stranger to people, but I was still taller than most of the women that hustled towards the market. My chestnut brown hair caught the sun and showed hints of red. My dress made of simple cotton to suit the increasing heat of the day, and the colour of fresh cream. The sleeves came to my elbows, and the bodice I wore had trims of lace to match, and was tight enough to push my heart in to my throat. My face is small like my mother’s, my nose is straight like my father’s, but my bright green eyes come from my Grandmother. Then all too suddenly the market came into my sights. I squeezed my father’s hand to let him know that the trip to the market was already making me happy. With both of us grinning over the time ahead, we walked into the glorious bedlam that is the local market.
The streets were lined with stalls from North to South, East to West. No portion of street is unclaimed by a table. Everywhere you looked people were talking of the past day’s events or the health of a family member. Disagreements of prices could be heard vaguely from the distance. The sound of a mother yelling for her children to return with the sweets stolen from a bag; then the small culprits darting through the crowd, laughing and squealing over prospect of being caught red handed with the wanted goods still staining their lips. All the stalls were laden with produce and luxury items. From crisp apples to strong vegetables, soft yellow butter to silky material. The market is a place of excitement, no matter how many times I venture here; there is always a new aspect to explore. As I merged into the crowd I moved towards a stall selling another farmer’s crops. The apple’s sparkled like stars on a clear night. The rest of the vegetables and fruit looked ripe enough to burst before your eyes. As I chose my precious prizes, the market girl that stood behind the stall looked at me shyly. She was a small girl, maybe of the age of eight. Straight blonde hair and almond coloured eyes. The girl’s mother smiled as she saw my line of sight and placed her hand on the girls head and announced with great pride that the girl was her only daughter with two other brothers. After I paid for my wonderful produce, I took a bright red apple from the collection and gave it to the little girl. The mother protested profoundly over my gesture and tried to give the apple back, but I just smiled and said my farewells and left. The girl stood smiling as I walked down the path to the next stall.
A few hours after arriving at the market my father was looking a bit restless. He didn’t normally accompany me out, but on his day of rest father didn’t wish to reside in the house, and decided to escort me to the market. Therefore standing before the last stall I wished to visit. I heard the sweet sound of music, and following my instinct I set out to find the sweet sound that was eluding my sight. Just as a turned the corner behind a stall I found the music that was so soothing to my ears. The fiddler was standing and swaying to the beat of his own instrument. The passion of his music seemed too flowed over you like a gentle breeze. The Lute player sat on an old three legged wooden chair, keeping time by tapping his foot on the dirt that sat undisturbed by the rhythmic tapping. Both men wore brown breeches and dirty shirts, but none of that seem to matter; the mixed music of the two instruments was the only thing that captured my attention. The music seemed to flow right through your soul and logged in to your heart. Suddenly father grumbled something about the lateness of the day. Reluctantly I left the music and trudged back to the material stall. My spirits immediately lifted as I saw the selection, the cotton was not rough on my fingertips, but nor was it as soft as the silk. The silk seemed to float on my fingers and elegantly drape. It was the most brilliant shade of beaming blue. As I was going to use the material to sew a gift for my mother I could see no reason that the price should play apart in the gift, and brought the blue silk that felt like and angel’s touch.
With all the treasures from the time spent at the market we started the journey home. Even as we walked out of the market and on the path home, I could hear the faint sounds of children playing where they were not meant to, and the sound of mothers trying to find their precious little children, and the soft sound of music. Even farther in the distance I could hear a disagreement over the price of some object. The foul insults that were obviously being shouting managed to put a fierce scowl on father’s face. As we left behind the noise and the adventure father recited his own expeditions of the day. We walked side by side down the path that would lead us to the sweetest place on the Earth; Home. We strolled through the path with the vast fields of emerald grass on either side, past the tree’s that tried to reach the heaven’s and had the glorious sun shining and smiling over us.
This was a homework assignment, and i just thought i might put it out there. Please review it and tell me what you think. Thanks
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