Repertoire de vivre

Waiting for my regular chips and cheese burgers, I am writing this on a paper napkin in an outdoor café. Strange, it’s less hectic this evening.
A dull autumn sky slowly pulling a veil of darkness over herself; a silent farewell to light and colour. Scent of dead autumn leaves in the air.
I wet my lips with a sip of steaming coffee. A memory. Of a lingering taste.
As I bring down the cup, I catch a typical coffee cup circle on the tablecloth. Well, almost a circle. It should be termed something, they are so well-known now.
A middle aged English lady in the opposite table. Too much make-up but natural auburn hair. She smiles at me. I return the smile, more earnest than usual. I like auburn.

Salt and vinegar? Familiar voice.
Yes please.

I see the chips before me. Scent of heat, potato and oil. A causeless revolution. Then, the tongue takes over, politely sucking the purpose out of them. Cut.Grind.Chew.Savour.Masticate.Wetted and pushed through by more coffee, waiting to be burnt by acids of the belly. All in silence.

I gaze at the road beside. A silent aging testimonial. Grows steeper and hides into a mystery of a leftish curve.
Two males, well clothed for the impending subzero weather, walking on the pavement.
Something grasps my interest. Something else.
Two figures in front of them.Walking towards the cafe. A small girl, somewhere between six and eight; auburn tresses dangling out of a mauve scarf. Small tiny steps. A divine poetry in motion. A heavy-built man, middle aged. Saying something to her, perhaps a story? Warm tone, heavy accent. Can’t quite make out the words. No reason not to believe they are a daughter and a father. Yes! He is telling a story.
Both look ahead and never at each other. They walk.Telling and told.
Then suddenly, Duuud, she slips and falls, on her belly.
Oblivious, the father strides with his story. A moment is seized into vacancy. An uneducated freeze. The noise of the void in my awed mind.
Life otherwise is the same. The air. The sky. The road. Cars. People. Then the Dad realises her absence just turns back looking for her; she slowly gets up and joins him and he restarts the narration. Nothing. No expedite. No exasperation. No celebration. Not even regret.

Life, naked and virgin.

The mind is grappled in a struggle seeking meaning of the event. Heaven and Hell within the head. An answer no question? Only echoes of nothingness. Embarrassed, the mind turns to the heart for an answer. Heart curves the lips into a smile and conjures an image, a vindication, of the great wave of the ocean, the wave trying to define the accent of the ocean, the wave answering a moon’s prayer. A rise, A subsist and A graceful death. The passionate, sultry, an all knowing laugh of the ocean. A wave that knows the mind of the life.

Lost and found, I smile again, at the lady opposite and take another sip of the coffee, more educated!!
Heart, always is more intelligent than the mind.