The boat builder has the hips of a woman.
Gentle slopes that curve, waist to thigh.
On top of his head spring fine tuned curls.
From a lush green corner I watch the boat builder being read, a riot act of some sort, by a petite brunette. I watch as the pressure of her words, land blow after blow, on the boat builder’s chin.
Suddenly, I feel a strong urge to take the mounting pressure off of the boat builder’s chin. For a second I entertain the thought of plucking a leaf off of the vine hanging over my head. To use as a mustache, While goose stepping,’ Monty Python style All over the lush green corner I had tucked myself away in.
I decide to go with my second urge. Dropping to a squat, gently pounding my chest Sailing plucked green grass in a shower over my head. I do this several times before the boat builder catches a glimpse of my antics, taking place, in the distance behind the petite brunettes head. He cracks a huge smile. I spring to my feet and claim innocents, dancing a half hearted jig.
The petite brunette does not care for the sudden smile, across the boat builders face. I can tell by the sharp movement of her petite frame, that she’s really letting him have it. I imagine her eye’s shooting darts Into a target on his forehead. An older female version, of the boat builder Appears from the far side of the main house. She has the same fine tuned curls And sharp, picture perfect profile.
She smiles broadly as she walks up to her boat building brother.
Their father has sent her to collect him.
He is being summoned to give a toast, To his families success.
The boat builder turns away from the petite brunette In the arm of his sister.
He glances back over his shoulder at me.
I smile and give him, my best spirit fingers goodbye wave.