The Leaf and the Lady.

As I was walking through Uttoxeter this morning, well huddled in winter coat, muffler, hat, and gloves, my mood was sombre. The high street was sparsely occupied as it usually is on a Sunday, and the two charity shops which open on the sabbath had offered nothing of interest. The dark sky glowered and the cold, damp wind had a most inhospitable feel. I caught sight of my reflection in a shop window, and saw there a parallel with a fallen, withered leaf rustling mindlessly along a kerb towards the nearest road grid and oblivion. Advancing age sometimes encourages the perception of such a parallel.

I walked down the hill and crossed the road into the retail park, and there I met a young woman with whom I felt an immediate connection. Though not classically pretty, she was certainly fair of face. Much more than that, however, was the air of affability and authenticity which shone from her to an extent which is most unusual. We talked for all of two minutes about the reason for my approaching her in the first place: I’d seen her driving into the car park in an early 90s vintage VW Golf, the like of which I haven’t seen in several decades. (I thought it was a Mk1, but she informed me that it was actually a Mk2.)

The image of the shrivelled leaf disappeared, and it never occurred to me to peruse my image in any further shop windows. But the thought was not lost on me that mood can be so radically lifted by the merest pressure of just the right nature.