Up the hill she went, her fitness evident in the way she pushed the pram.
An enviable strength so undeniable, muscles pushing with definition against the steep grade.
I felt attracted to her.
A couple of kid’s scraggling around her holding on to her dark cerise taffeta skirt. Maybe she’s in her twenties, maybe she’s younger.
He was there talking with arms conducting an invisible orchestra but I saw she wasn’t listening, not really.
I know that nod of the head and the tilt of the neck ever so slightly to the side.
Was this guy her man?
I wondered if he was the dad of her three kids.
He was just a little bit too carefree with the glide of his new dapper cool dude shoes.
His body amused by the get happening life and the sun that caught the red tint in his sunglasses.
A man with a rolloping walk with not a care about how many nappies in the pram, when the baby might need a feed.
His gait so distinctive that I would recognize him by that I am sure for the rest of my life.
Mr Bojangles Junior, that is what I called him.
I glanced back to see his shadow jive walking to the lovemaking music that conceives life.
He made me smile.
© K S Hardy 2010
A snapshot of people and the story they make for us in the briefest of moments.