At four o’clock, the city was already alive.
Not rushed, not forced… but carried by something older than the day itself. A rhythm people seemed to remember without thinking.

Children walked the streets with flags on their cheeks, laughter in their voices, hands sticky from popcorn and cotton candy.
Orange everywhere. Not loud, but warm. Belonging.

Adults moved differently. Slower.
Couples sharing quiet conversations over wine, families gathered around small tables, plates filled with simple things made beautiful.
A steakhouse already breathing evening.
Salads, laughter, clinking glasses.

And then the scent of the sea.

Kibbeling, golden and crisp, with that unmistakable sauce you only truly understand once you’ve tasted it here.
Not simple. Never simple.

The square held everything together.
Music carried across the space like a soft command.
Young, old, dancing without asking permission.
A father resting beneath a wooden gazebo, lying back as if the world could wait.
Children around him. Life, unfiltered.

I stood there, filming.
But more than that… I was watching. Receiving.

Fe Maestro and his musicians didn’t just perform.
They invited. And people answered.

Voices rose.
Bodies moved.

Simply the Best.
Sweet Caroline.
Engelbewaarder.
Het Goede Doel.

Songs that don’t belong to one person,
but to everyone who dares to sing them out loud.

I drank cola.
A small sweetness, an apple beignet, a cone of ice cream with caramel and stroopwafel.
Nothing excessive. Everything enough.

The night closed gently.
One last song, someone asking if there should be more…
and I, standing in front, filming, answered without thinking.

Yes.

And so we sang again.
We danced again.
We applauded.

And then… quietly, everyone returned home.

That was King’s Day
in Schouwen-Duiveland.

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