Earthed

There you were right on the spot, paused in stride, looking out to the side. Indian road crew, yellow hard hat & water cooler; a horizontal hoe. Couple of squares of ground. The first was gotten by without a proper whiff, only faintly rising. Second was more distinct, carrying the familiar tang from the past. Turned ground; orange-brown soil that had been levelled and flattened smooth. Unique, notable aroma the stuff of humanity. In almost two months since the return had there been anything of the kind? The old dignified Tamil at the Haig with hardly a word of English, kindly disposed, seemed to have comprehend the question the other morning. You like the grass too? Crossing back to the blocks from Carpmael, the lady ignored the concrete paths and chose the soft earth beneath the trees. Smiling when she gave the English assent. This was the woman one wanted to point out to some of the younger girls who struggled under the male gaze, struggled in the public space. That effortless ease and surety could be managed with right mind; there was a way. Living examples conveyed a great deal more than talk. This lady knew all the sides of it; knew the male too. In her day she had created wonderful pleasure when she had a mind. And for the grandad upstairs into the present time too, no doubt.