Kismet

Kismet

On my usual walk, the walk I’ve walked almost daily for years. I’ve walked it so many time I could probably tell you the names of the rocks by the side of the road. Actually, I rarely look at things anymore, I think, plan, daydream. The walk is just my required exercise, plus keeping other people from interrupting my thoughts, of course.

I was walking by a fence I’d passed many times. I only pass it one way (I walk a large circle to keep from getting bored.) In the beginning it was a couple with young kids. I knew because they left the gate open often, and I saw tricycles on the walk. Eventually bikes, then the gate started being shut all the time. I walked by the driveway, but it was a turn around to look, and I never had reason, so I never did.

But here today on the top of the fence was a paper hat covered with sparkles and ribbons. No words, but just colorful, delightful, as if made by a child.

I stopped and looked up at it, wondering if one of those children had grown and had a child of his or her own! Has it been that long? It seemed only yesterday I was looking at tricycles.

As I stood there, a man opened the gate. About my age, still in his pajamas, I may add.

“Oh I’m sorry!” he said, “Forgive my attire, I was trying to retrieve my hat, my grand-daughter made it for me.”

We chatted a bit, as people our age tended to do. He had actually been the owner when I started walking this way! He and his wife, parents of the tricycle kids. His wife had passed away four years ago, as did my Frank.

Kismet.