Young Love

I saw them lounging on the shore of Brandt’s Creek, two thirteen-somethings barely visible in the arms of what seemed to be a tryst.  It was a hot day and I noticed them, as I rode past slowly on my bicycle, nonchalantly peering over at me as if I’d distrubed something private.  In a burst of intuition I simply smiled and thought, “Young love…”

A few minutes later I decided to end my exploration of the new neigbourhood that had been springing up around the creek.  I wheeled back down the dirt path that traced the tree and bush lined waterway and saw them again ambling across the street in a way that was simultaneously endearing and funny.

She, in short-short white pants and tangerine T-shirt – long honey-blonde hair cascading on her shoulders, was literally head and shoulder taller than he; while he, black calf-length pants, and baseball cap askew, held her buttock in his hand.  I giggled inside and couldn’t help but look back -her left arm draped over his shoulder, his right hand still in position – both practicing romance; perhaps seeking a more secluded hideaway, on a hot hot afternoon.


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