Flowers at the bridge

I was going to write a letter to my students here today - one of those polite letters verging on ranting that I'd never want them to read but would like to share with others who would understand. But... whilst I was walking my Little Dog I saw something that changed my post entirely: a young man, mid to late teens, with a small bunch of flowers in a deep purple cone.

Little Dog and I passed him as we walked towards the canal. He was walking along the street holding his bunch of flowers out slightly awkwardly in that way that anyone carrying a bunch of flowers and trying to go somewhere always holds them. They were upright, and held forwards and slightly to the side of his body, and there was an air of determination about him. Perhaps it was teenage awkwardness; perhaps something else. His flowers were clearly a token of something. It was a small bunch, and I wondered if they were for his mum, who might live in one of the houses along that street. But we were walking in opposite directions and I thought that was the last I would see of him. I would never know any more.

As Little Dog and I turned a corner at the canal path, I saw a figure half sitting on, half leaning against the canal tow-path wall, at the gateway by the bridge, with a small bunch of flowers in a deep purple wrapping cone. He looked at his watch; he took out his mobile phone. Reading a text message? Sending a text message?

I kept walking.

I hope she showed up.