One place, other usages, other times

The plaza next to the13th century church has only a few merchants for the Saturday marché. The Tramantane's force has discouraged both sellers and buyers.

This and another angel guard the entrance. At one time the pair flanked the church's doors. Now they overlook the plaza. Their wings are fixed after bored brats broke them off last summer. This repair will please my angel-loving friend in Long Island.

The plaza has many uses besides the twice-weekly marché. During the summer on Monday night tourists are taught the Sardane dance, the pride of most Catalans. 

On benches to one side of the plaza the mamies gather to brag about their grandchildren and discuss the evening meal or the follies of their husbands either present or departed.

Young kids play ball which may cross the street into the people drinking coffee at La Noisette. Someone always gets up and throws it back with or without admonishments to be more careful.

Sometimes teenagers hang out and the later the night the greater the chance for the smell of weed.

On December 22, villagers will gather to watch Père Noël climb down from the church tower as Christmas music is broadcast over the loud speakers strategically placed.

This plaza is for the living, yet over two hundred years ago going back to times no longer recorded it was the cemetery for this once walled village.

Since learning it, I imagine the lives of the bones of people who lived, loved, hated and died. They would have eaten fish from the close-by sea, although a marsh provided some protection from the pirates who roamed the coast.

Farmers who grew food outside the walls would have kept their livestock on the ground floor of their houses inside the wall. Where Rick and I now live probably had a sheep or cow brought inside to protect it from the Tramantane. My studio loft once would have held animal feed.

These earlier residents would have worn wooden shoes and even their Catalan descendents of today would have trouble understanding their ancient tongue.

The cemetery-come plaza is a reminder that although according to law the houses which are centuries old are "owned" maybe those with paper titles filed at the marie are only caretakers. 
We won't be buried at the plaza, but perhaps in the cemetery that is now out of town. The graves with their ceramic plaques telling witnesses about their  lives.