I watch an old woman walking with a stick
The boy at her side is maybe six
He is at school now
Or would be if they weren’t on an extended holiday courtesy of Covid
I’ve seen this pair before
Many times
Watched the old woman walk him when he was maybe four, a tiny toddler at her side and before even that
As a baby in a pram
Is she his gran?
I always wondered as I’ve never seen him with a mother
And there is this divide in ages that my mind falls into when I think of them together
He is a busy child, fast as any other, his quick brain and nimble body skipping far ahead of her older bowed legs
Yet he waits, she catches up, they talk and then he is gone
Run, stop, wait
He’ll be doing that his whole life and yet I see his respect, his love and I imagine (as we writers do) his gratitude
For without her, he would have no one
I think of all the kids who slip through gaps in generations
Not born to their grandparents but taken in by them
For whatever reason
And I wonder what they do with that gap inside them those kids
Does the gap leave a space or is it adequately filled ?
Do they feel the years that are surely missed in between the generation they were born into, the wide gulf?
It seems to me that no void stays empty
Weeds grow in the dirt through the cracked concrete path, flowers too
And sunlight streams through spaces in clouds
Illuminating the views
No matter the circumstances
These two have made it work for them
I wonder how long I will watch them grow together as I drive along this road, thinking of all manner of things and people I have watched come to pass
And sometimes life feels very fast
And sometimes very, very slow
Like that little boy
Run stop wait
And at the moment I’m running
So off I go

Very good!
Thanks 😊
❤️
wonderful, thanks 💖💖
Thanks for reading 😊
my pleasure
between the lines
seems fine
but we seldom know the whys or the way fares eh?