The tall person says that they will wake up again when the sun shines and people come out of their houses to sit and chat in the spring and in the sultry summer evenings.
Ah, what gossip and secrets these sleeping sentinels hold in their dreams.
I sometimes think I hear echoes of all the conversations they have overheard and absorbed over time.
They hold the stories of my neighborhood.
They sleep now in a winter without words but will wake again when they feel the warmth of the sun and the chatter of neighbors.