Routine

 

There are four of us, a tight little bubble of

two very mature adults and two little dogs

guaranteed to be seen daily in a habitual

stroll through a neighbourhood forest

day after day, month following month

year by year as inevitable as the years

that have clothed our existence. And there

is but one of him, a short, slight, dark

young man with piercing black eyes and

a slight walking list, always alone careful

to avert his eyes lest his manner appear to 

be construed as forward in a society whose

culture he may not yet be comfortable with.

The landscape is beguiling, a succession of

 autumnal-colour days in a heavily wooded 

ravine where few venture but those that do

seek comfort of nature. As he strode briskly 

by I voiced the 'Hi!' of acknowledgement no

doubt taking him by surprise, and the next

time again that 'Hi!' an unmistakable greeting

stranger to stranger eliciting from him a

'Hello' and a shy nod, our little dogs taking

no notice, my companion quiet. Soon his

return echoed my own and a chance remark

on the beauty of our environment brought a

stream of clipped words and a genuine smile

creased his thin face, his body language

releasing its tension and all it cost was 'Hi!'