A poem-like story about a man who finds the unusual to be the connection.
He was a simple Bob Dylan man. Curly brown locks and glasses.He burnt his pizza cold. And dropped his glasses often.
Walking in silence, With his hands in his pockets, down the park avenue. He was middle aged, but his wrinkles didn’t show the sorrow of his past currently due.
Photographer, lover, and quiet thinker, he sat at the park bench that day. Like an old man, in a leather jacket, he let his feet just sway.
Under the concrete, just feeling the breeze. He looked up at the grass, and saw something unseen.
A woman in sweats, and sneakers just laying in the grass. On a sunny Saturday morning, she lay there and laughed. He observed her every curve and flicker of the eye, for her clothing was grey, but her brightness was in her smile.
She lay in the grass, picking little weeds. Seeing the beauty of just a small daphodile that make others freeze. She was unusual, with a dark beauty mark on her chin. But, every time she sat up, it made him grin.
He tried not to look at the beauty with the curly brown hair. But, others seemed to ignore her, for she was not the typical type of woman’s lair.
But, this man was short, with a long chin. And as he fixed his notebook, he began to write of her.
He wrote about the unusual way that she made him feel. He wrote about how there was a connection from here that was just pure joy that he couldn’t hide. Some say it was just the body’s passion. But, to him he felt a connection. The unusual, quirky way or her chipped fingernails made him feel at peace, as if someone else unusual, like him, was just living her life.
Just seeing her being herself, and enjoying the day made his sorrows, for just a minute, seem to go away.
And again, at that park, on that day, his short fingers began to write…
@ Camile McGregor