At the market: The things they carried

At the market, everyone ends up with something in hand; those who anticipate a big shop bring carts, perhaps for bushels of superb tomatoes. But they also carry identities, some evident, some more opaque.

Clockwise from top left:
1. The young woman in a charming striped sundress and a back full of ink.
2. Handling a big shop with a sturdy straw trimmed in handsome leather.
3. I'm carrying glads home!
4. Some women can really carry a hat! I loved the ombré shading, from palest green to lime; the rest of her outfit was impeccably white.

 Many shoppers move through the market carrying the delicacies offered there... till eaten!

Left: A young man hauling his contrabass, nearly bigger than he is.
Upper right: ...while eating a tart!
Lower right: They start young; one of our grandson Émile's first words was "nata".

We carry signals of our tribe, secular or religious; every day, paths cross.
Left: a young man in a Canadiens hat; in the background, a woman in a hijab.
Right: Father and son walk home from Shabbat service, past a helmeted cyclist. I recall the sweetness of walking with a boy who held my hand.

In summer, we also carry ourselves differently, no longer braced against icy wind. You can see the pure enjoyment, the ease.

Left: Young parents often look fatigued; it's a pleasure to see a relaxed and vivacious mother.
Centre: Warmth from a plant-seller.
Right: Smiling dogs are one of life's joys! (Cats smile too, but never for the camera.)

Markets make me happy, every time, no matter where.  What is it: the colour, the vitality, the promise of seasonal, home-cooked dishes?  There's an entirely different mood than in a supermarket, though I have my favourite little neighborhood superette too.