It’s an acrid windy day . On my way to town I observe:

Old man with pipe in mouth lifts his arm every time he takes a draw – as if afraid the pipe may fall out of his mouth. His gait is woody, as is his pipe. It’s a comical effect . He moves fairly swiftly down the path and stops n’ stoops now and then to light , with trembling hands , his dwindling tobacco . The murmur of his broken steps is screened by the persistent brush of wind in ears.

‘Nothing satisfies the man who is not satisfied with a little ‘ Epicurus

An aged couple amble by; their legs move in synchronous (pleonastic) unison – almost like a military march . Their cheeks both suffused with a vital and hearty blush ; A grinning of identical grins . Their appearance betrays twin minds.  But appearances deceive, if we are to believe the wise men. Do they love each other? Or do they need each other? Both?  This riles me .  Am I afraid of becoming one with someone – something (Coarse! ) – else? No , it can’t be,  nothing as grand and romantic as that.

‘Man can say nothing of what he is incapable of feeling, but he can feel what he is incapable of putting into words ‘ (St.Augustine )

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