On the edge of a rain drenched road stood an old wooden rack with yellow paint starting to peel with time. On it were rows of plastic bottles filled with green liquid perhaps retail gasoline, a remnant of an old routine that persisted in the village. Beside them hung a blue plastic bag, containing empty bottles waiting to be filled. It all seemed simple, but therein lay a beauty that is often overlooked.
The rain had just stopped, leaving small puddles on the uncrowded asphalt road. The scent of wet earth combined with the fragrance of flowers from the plants growing neatly along the roadside. The colors of the flowers seemed to bring new vibrancy to the calm midday. There were reds, purples, whites, and yellows they seemed to smile welcomingly at anyone who passed, though perhaps few truly noticed.
Behind the wooden rack, a motorcycle was casually parked. Perhaps it belonged to the gasoline seller, or someone taking a break from a long journey. Not far away, wooden houses stood in a row with zinc roofs glistening with the remaining rainwater. The scene was so familiar, so down-to-earth. A portrait of village life that moves slowly but meaningfully.
A place like this teaches many things without words. About the patience of waiting for customers on a rainy day, about small businesses that persevere, and about the simple ways people survive amidst changing times. There's no luxury, but there's a serenity that's hard to explain a serenity that comes from the honesty of everyday life.
Perhaps city dwellers would pass by a place like this without a second glance, taking it for granted. But for those who have lived in the village, every little detail brings back memories. The sound of a motorbike stopping briefly to buy gas, a warm greeting from a vendor, the scent of freshly cut grass by the roadside all of these are part of an irreplaceable story.
The rain might come again this afternoon, dripping on the tin roof, wetting the flowers growing along this roadside. And the wooden shelf will remain, a silent witness to the passage of time a place where simplicity still lives and breathes, amidst the sounds of rain, motorbikes, and flowers that never tire of blooming.
Note: I am writing in Indonesian and using the help of Google translate to translate into English.
All gifts from this post will be burned and made into strength to support other hivers posts.
| Photographer | Smartphone used | Location |
|---|---|---|
 | Realme C53 | Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam |
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