Life’s sweet ordinary is taking the time to listen to the elderly gentleman today. He was short in stature, grey haired, and completely attentive to his little black & white terrier. A cross between a Jack Russell and a Pekingese, he shared with me. I had wanted to quietly take my own dogs to the hem of the beach (the ban for dogs on the beach continues until tomorrow). He asked me if I was taking them there and I responded, ‘Not today. But tomorrow for sure!”. There began our conversation.
I looked the gentleman in his kind eyes — eyes like one of my favourite horses, and that’s a compliment. He smiled constantly, spoke eloquently, and with such vibrance he was sure to coax the spring bulbs into full bloom. His dog was named for a kitchen party. He said her name is Ceilidh (you pronounce that phonetically like “Kay-Lee”). We spoke about other things, he mentioned his wife with such a sparkle in his eye, it was obvious he loves her dearly. He asked about my dogs, the colour of their eyes, their breed, and their names. Interrupted by my dog’s eagerness to head out for their stroll, they began to play like schoolchildren. The gentleman laughed and observed, commenting how patient and well behaved they were. We spoke for a few more minutes, more with his initiative than mine. I was busy appreciating his enthusiasm and the exchange. Listening.
We parted, each of us with such a smile and gaiety that it was obvious each of us fueled the other. I didn’t ask his name; he didn’t ask mine. But the names don’t matter, only the time spent and appreciation for each other’s attentiveness.
By the way, as I write this, the late day light is so enthralling I could easily say it has its own magic. Nah, everyone says ‘magical’ when talking of this special light — it’s like the exhilaration of a first kiss. Yea, that’s it.