He stood there in the early morning light. He had been there for an hour. It was a simple enough thing to do just walk down the stairs down into the street below. This was something which he had done thousands if not tens of thousands of times. Below was the street across from that was the river. The river was why there was always a mist on cooler days. It was very cool this morning, unseasonably cool.

Thinking back on the day and the meeting which was about to take place. How strange. Meeting people was nothing new. How many people had he meet in his life thus far. One hundred, two hundred. Surely you might meet one hundred or two hundred people in the first 6 years of your life and that is probably a low guess. He had probably meet one hundred thousand people or two hundred thousand. Why was meeting this one person so hard.

Why here. Why now in the early spring. He took a deep breath the air was crisp. It burned as it entered his body. When he exhaled his breath was visible. Lingering only briefly in front of him until it dissipated in to the mist around him. He reached out to the black rails. Iron, it was old 18th century. The iron was cold and damp the mist had left a residue on the rails. He pulled his hand back and stared at the water beads then put his hand in his pocket. More to rid it of the water than to brace it against the cool air. There in the bottom of the pocket was coin. It was a deutchmark 1914 sterling silver, it had belonged to his great grand father. He had been here on these stairs. What 90 years ago. The mark coin had been brought back from World War I. His grandfather had had a photograph taken at the bottom of these stairs. Something about an old superstition regarding stairs in photos should always go up to signify progress. Stairs facing down meant regret, fear, loss, impending doom.

Was this true, did it apply here, now to the meeting about to take place. Had his accidental arrival at the top of the stairs been an omen of ill fortune. Would the simple act of walking down them lead to failing. He tried to put it out of his mind.

Just then a bird sang out in one of the trees. The day was beginning it was early spring soon the birds would pair and then a new generation of songs passed on. The sun still had not broken the skyline of the city. Soon. Soon the city would be alive with traffic people rushing around in their own worlds. Some dreading the coming day. Others lost in their own self importance. He had only one thing to do today walk down these stairs and meet a woman.

Why was this so hard to do then. He had meet how many women in his life. Most likely at least half of the people he had ever meet in his life. How many had he known well. More than he cared to tell people.

He breathed in again. Still cold, still burned but there was something different now. He turned to his right and looked up the nearly empty street. A vendor with a wagon had set up on the corner not 100 feet from him, with fresh breads. The aroma was drifting around the street. A few bird were on the street now gathering near the cart. Hoping that the old man would toss a few pieces to them. Surely this was something the old man had done nearly every morning. The bird hopped nearer and a few pieces of bread emerged from the old man coat pocket and on to the ground. Quickly they were taken away and new ones appeared on the ground.

The sun was breaking over the skyline now. He could just begin to feel the warmth washing over his face in the chill morning air. He took his hand out of his pockets rubbed them together. He raised them to his face and blew into them. They weren�t really cold but it was more a means of doing something common. Something he had done before. Something to make him feel ordinary on this not so ordinary day. The vendor looked down the street. He nodded his head and the old man nodded back. Sort of a knowing nod.

Yes he too had stood at the top of these very stairs and looked down. What lies ahead what will this bring me, fortune, happiness, or sorrow. The old man looked again and smiled. It was the sort of smile that said. It won�t get done on its own. The sort of smile men share and women don�t understand. You don�t even have to know each other. The old man didn�t know what lay at the bottom for him but knew that it was important. He looked back at the old man again. The old man would not look back again customers were begging to emerge and he knew too that the old man had already said his piece with the nod and the smile. He had stood hear some time once a long time ago. And he had walked down the stairs no regrets. Perhaps on a morning just like this one. Early in the spring of the year. The birds just returning from wintering. Perhaps even a cool morning one where your breath hangs there in front of you just for a moment to let you know that these moments are when you live or you die. Or rather you decide to live or just watch from the comfort of what you know. Now the choice was there in front of him go back to what he knew or step forward to the unknown. With a single step down the clicking on the cobbles echoed. The old man at the vendors wagon smiled without looking around. The kind of smile you smile when you remember something and you know you have lived.