THE JOURNEY

I came across him as I pursued my solitary travels. Round of body and ruddy of face, he was seated by the village duck pond,  a jug of ale in one hand, a smouldering pipe in the other.

    `Tis fair set for Micklemass`, he greeted me, taking a long, considered draw on his old pipe.

    `Indeed it is sir,` I replied, slumping down gratefully beside him.

    `You be come far travelling?,` he asked.

For a moment I stared at the placid water.  `Many a good mile these past weeks,` I replied.

He turned to face me, his rheumy eyes taking in my road-weary appearance. `You be  wanting a gill then,` he said, thrusting the earthenware jug towards me.

     `Why thankyou for your kindness,` I replied, gulping a mouthful of the cool, frothy  liquid.

     `I like the quiet see,` he said, taking another draw on his pipe. `Gets a jug from the Anchor and comes down here most afternoons.` He lapsed into silence as I took another draft of the sweet-tasting ale.   

     `Lovely spot to be alone with your thoughts,` I replied after a while, handing him back the jug.

     He took a long swig. `Strange things, thoughts,` he said, knocking out his pipe against the side of the old seat. `Some folk sits an` lets `em wash over  theirselves  `til they becomes clear as well water. Others..well others does their best  to keep them thoughts two steps behind `em.`

We sat in silence again, he rekindling his old pipe, me gazing at the dragon flies as they hovered over the shimmering pond.

    `Nice place is it..your village?`  I eventually asked.

    `Good as most I expect,` he replied.