Wandering

A young girl skips by, her entire world reduced to the doll she holds out in front of her. As she passes an old man he breaks into a muted smile, her carefree abandon reflected in shallow water.

Struggling with the wheels on the uneven pavement, a young woman graciously declines an offer of help. She flashes a heart wrenching smile and wheels herself away, slowly, determined and with no little effort.

In a cafe a baby coughs, a concerned mother turns only to shake her head as the first gurgle of laughter trickles out. Soon a gentle, contented giggle wafts over to the other patrons. Heads slowly turn to the noise, listening,  smiling. Infected.

Outside, staggering on heels, bags bulging at their sides, they giggle and whisper, suppressing laughter, trying to stay in the moment. They pause at shop windows, and remarked innuendos drawing glances from passersby. An old lady, bent over her cane, struggles slowly past. The girls gather round a window as she shuffles past. She pauses behind them, then shuffles on. A smile of recognition on her face, a glimpse of times past.

Between sips of coffee, the writer dives into his notebook, slashing ink and thoughts, capturing fragments of life for no good reason. Pausing, the realisation slowly sinks in as the smile sneaks onto his face. Reason is of no use here. The why, the what, the who, none of them matter and none can change any of this. Sometimes it’s enough that things just are.

He puts down his pen once more. Ready for the next time.