Bell

The older I get, the further back I look.

I remember my aunt bringing me to a provision shop, just like this one, when I was still not tall enough to see over the counter. I don't remember much about the provision shop itself, other than the fact that it was just round the corner and that it smelt of dried produce. But I remember the routine, two grown ups, sometimes three discussing, talking in dialect and then the money bucket would be lowered and the bell would ring, and we would be on our way home. Life was simple then, a bell's ring and you're on your way.