Trad Noms had a gait known by many.
It was a gauntly kind of gait, interspersed by fits of jerkiness.
You could see him coming from quite a way off, even if you couldn't make out his face. The gait gave him away you might say.
He walked with pride though, his gait a source of pride for him.
Known not only for his gait was he though.
Every Monday and Friday he would make his way to the public library where for several hours a day he would read cross-legged, always in the same spot.
Oh yes! He was a great lover of the printed pages. The words captivated him so much that he often read out loud, or to be precise, read out whisper with obvious delight in his intonation.
A delightful scene to see!
He read poetry most often as far as I know. Tennyson, Pushkin, Burns, to name a few.
In fact his love of poetry rubbed off onto mine self I admit. Keats is my favourite, most splendid prose write did he!
Yes, Trad Noms was a special chap indeed.
Now, he has gone. Taken away by time and returned to the earth. I don't know where he was buried but I imagine Dandelions growing in their brightest glory at his grave.
Some live exciting and powerful lives, some not.
Some live a life anonymous, some not.
Trad Noms lived a life full of inner happiness and contentedness. His love of the prose infected others around him in a way not direct like a scholar, but with the pure infectious fervour of a lover of all things.
I am not a Trad Noms that is for sure, not many are. But they turn up from time to time and I am always looking.
I wonder if Keats was one...I somehow imagine not.
Hurrah!