Sunday, November 27, 2011

At Dusk in a Park nearby

It was nearly dusk and the dark-suited businessman was busy with a phone call. He was on his way somewhere important it seemed, briefcase swinging from his free hand, the other pressing the phone to his ear. He was walking through a park near the center of town.

HH and a group of friends were playing soccer nearby, shooting wildly at the goal, the improvised boundaries of which were rapidly disappearing in the waning light. Another kick went wide and the ball sailed off through the trees and leaves marking a path that would inevitably intersect with the businessman’s.

He didn’t acknowledge the ball. I didn’t think he even saw it, so wrapped up in his conversation as he was. But as the ball closed in, he turned to face the boys and swung his leg, the side of his foot connecting solidly with the ball and sending it, and with it himself, cleanly back into play.



Anonymous Anonymous said...

R, you wrote a great story about a guy kicking a ball; I wished I could tell a story like this in such an elegant way.

A friend, neither dark-suited nor businessman, likes to do this as well: a (foot-)ball appearing in front of his feet, and with an awesome spin, kicks it back into the game, even over a high fence.

2:08 AM  
Blogger Michelle said...

Thanks for your well wishes! I am loving every minute of being a mother so far. It's beautiful but going by too fast already.

5:48 PM  

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