Day 10: Old Beauty

'Vintage' is a very popular notion these days.  Something old that's gathered beauty over the years and instead of just being dusty and past, it's imbued with an interest and a history that draws at the soul.  Wandering streets in Cyprus stirs up a lot of this kind of fascinating dust.  This 'Souvenir Shop' caught my eye as I wandered today - there's something about the handwritten sign, the cracked and peeling wall, the rusting letterbox, and the rusty colours that all combine to say, "This was something once".  It's fascinating to me that we can pass by something old and peeling and dusty without a second glance - and then a few steps later something else with all those same characteristics causes us to stop in our tracks and be amazed for a moment.

It's the beauty of history, of life gone by, of the potential that lives within those walls.  This was never just a shop - it was a place where life was lived and a living was made and families came together and heads shook over coins and treasures were bought and sold.  Where someone fell in love and someone else fell out of it; where old men waited and young men zoomed past and little children took stumbling steps.  There, someone fell and wept; here, another looked with anticipation out the window; and in that letter-box what epistles were expected and received and exclaimed over?  And when did it all begin to fall apart - what happened to the front-door key and the side window and the doorstep?  Was it sold, or just forgotten?  Is it possible that someone, somewhere, still has the big old-fashioned key sitting in a brass plate in their home - and they keep meaning to go by but never do?  Or perhaps they look at the key and can't even remember what it's for.  Or they're waiting for it to sell and have given up hope that anyone wants this tumbledown building.  And they begin to take other streets so they don't have to pass this way and remember the life that was so alive there, for several days or years or lifetimes.

That's the kind of beauty held in old, dusty buildings.  It's the beauty of potential, of mystery, of a story that is begging to be told, but is held mute by forgotten years.  I passed this beauty today, and for a few moments saw it, lived it, was enticed by it.

And then moved on.