to decribe my favourite spec, I'd written this..14:31 Jun 08 2007
Times Read: 1,204
Reflections On The Mere
It is a warm sunny day and the trees that grow high around the Mere find their existence mirrored in darker hues upon its still water.
The man sits, as he has done recently, on one of two bench seats with a clear view of the mere.
He takes from a jacket pocket a decorated tobacco tin and takes out a ready - roll and lights it.
Lighting up, he closes his eyes momentarily, as he tastes the bitter sweet smoke.
With his third and fourth inhalation, the man allows his mind to wander, until finally he mutters aloud,
“Time factor ... now minus ten ... “ and calmer once more, he opens his eyes fully, his mind at peace,
as he looks at the vista around him, his recent problems receding into nothingness ...
In front of him , the road splits into three: the right turn, a small road leading to the farmhouse of the mere’s owner, who also owned much of the land in the surrounding area; to his left was the road leading to the rest of the greenbelt community and forking from it, the road to town; whilst ahead the road disappears beneath a canopy of trees, as hill rises upward, past a scattering of fine old houses, into a housing estate and the road into the village, then town. Everywhere he looks the man sees trees, of every size, genus and possible variant of green and he is entranced by it all ...
And lowering his field of vision through his glasses he continues his study.
To his left, about twenty - five yards ahead are the white double gates to the old Mill House.
The building is white - washed, with a traditional thatched roof, and though it is a little obscured by the surrounding greenery, its man - made beauty serves as a perfect counterpoint to his view of the natural beauty of the Mere itself.
The open stretch of water was covered on three sides by trees and on it live the ducks, moorhens and the visiting birdlife and it is a quiet idyl away from the world’s ills and thus attracts many visitors of varied types ... that was why he came here.
From the base of the hill, to the turn to his right that led to to the farm, a wall of stone roughly hewn surrounds the mere. There are six concrete bollards after the walls end and the steps and a path leading to a locked gate and fence; where pleasure boats used to be hired from and where fishermen now sit.
When people come, with bread for the ducks that live on the mere, he watches them ...
Today his gaze was drawn to a red sports car, parked across from where he sits, it’s top down.
In front of the car, sitting either side of the last bollard before the steps were two women, their feet dangling but inches from the dark waters surface.
The woman to the right has the build of a slim young man, ‘with curves in all the right places, ‘ he thinks.
Both women wore similar clothing, checked shirts and light blue jeans, cut tight.
The brunette, the bigger of the two wore a blue shirt and her friends is an orange brown in colour.
The lighter built woman has fair hair, wears small gold frame glasses, ‘and looks just like a librarian ... ‘
he muses, watching her smile, her body relaxed toward the brunette, who talks a lot.
From the corner of his eye he watches the pair, as car after car passes, it’s occupants occasionally stopping to feed the ducks bread, or simply admire the view.
He watches couples with young children; he sees the odd lone parent with child, both male and female;
as well as the occasional cyclist and walker stopping to rest awhile before continuing on their journeys.
And all the time he finds his attention is drawn again and again to the two women, watching, as they exchange banter, eating crisps and drinking beer.
A long haired blonde stands but feet away from them, smoking a cigarette and feeding the ducks.
The blonde wears a loose - cotton fabric dress and a light breeze catches at the fabric, billowing the skirt upward to expose an expanse of shapely leg and thigh and for a few moments their attention is not on one another, as they both turn to watch a blonde. Both the women, the fair - haired and the more muscular brunette return their gaze to one another after the momentary flash of skin and they both smile,
‘at a secret that only they know of ... ‘ he wonders, idly.
Then, as time moves on and the temperature becomes less warm, the brunette stands, extending a hand
to assist her companion to rise. ‘They look so in love,‘he considers, as they get in the car.
The brunette looks toward him a second, smiles, then turning to her friend they kiss briefly and suddenly the car is gone.
With little to watch and the sun no longer on his face, the man stands, brushes himself down and starts walking homeward. He walks with purpose, anxious to relate all that he has seen to paper, so he ignores the traffic and the occasional returning commuter.
‘It has been a pleasant sunny day, ‘ he thinks, a meal waiting at home and a story to tell.
* * *
Toward him a young woman strides, small of build, her exposed limbs well - tanned, her long dark hair parted in the middle and tied back in a bushy tail. She is wearing a green tee - shirt and khaki shorts,
in addition to tan ‘walking shoes’ and the small rucksack that she carries on her back.
As they approach each other on the narrow path, he notices her staring, with large, brown, doe - eyes
and as he moves to allow her to pass she says to him, at the end of this beautiful sunny day, directly and
quite charmingly, “Good afternoon. “
His mind races, until finally he finds voice, to return her greeting with “ Er, er ... Good afternoon.”
And once she has passed around him the ageing hippie continues home, still wondering whether the girl's accent was Germanic, or not ...
Fin.
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