Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
I understand a translation of “Buyurun,” the exclamation of the two young boys, is “Here you are!” They are calling it out, toting two huge bunches of flowers that they would be delighted to sell to some of the people visiting the town. It is a town outside of Izmir. You can get here by minibus. There are dozens of cafes nearby serving brunch in their gardens, a chance for sustenance in fresh air. The village name can translate as the village with flowers, so everything is working out nicely.
The boys hold the flowers at their sides and use a free hand to push their older sister on her bicycle. Both boys have unkempt hair and open grins–both because they are at the age where they are missing front teeth, and because they are purely joyful. They hustle around the slow adults, they carry on as a pair. Even when they don’t make a sale, they don’t seem to mind. It is a lovely day in the village, after all. The boys hold out flowers to visitors, jump out of the road when tractors rush through, call back at herds of geese, and shine like the sun.