In a Wellington Park

She stands with feet wide, knees deeply bent.  Her ageless face framed by straight black hair. She is in constant, deliberate motion.

The sweep of the arm.
The scoop of the hand.

Her eyes focus on the middle distance.  She takes a slow, deliberate step to the left. Toes up, heel down. The shift of her weight, from foot to foot, is smooth. Effortless.

The sweep of the arm.
The scoop of the hand.

The thin autumn sun is bright in a pale blue sky.  The Wellington wind swoops between the buildings and across the park. Her silk clothing ripples.

The sweep of the arm.
The scoop of the hand.

I stop to watch. My breathing slows. My gaze softens. For a moment,  we are connected. I feel the power of being calm and controlled.

My cell phone beeps. In reflex, my gaze drops to my palm.  The moment is gone.

 

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