Tag Archives: jacqueline bishop

some enchanted evening

September 15, 2012

Some enchanted evening… you may be walking home from the bus in a hard summer rain with a big black umbrella that Herman (the waiter and Dehli’s answer to Brad Pitt) found for you out the front of your local café where a woman had flung it and stormed off into the downpour after the gale had blown it inside out in a split second and turned into a big black witches broom, but he fixed it, deftly outside inning and wedging the wires back in their slots and handed it to you.

You’re loaded down with books and vegetables and damp yoga clothes.

And at a time like that you may see a stranger, you may see a stranger across a crowded street. He’s walking along in your direction in a dirty white singlet with a tall-ie (or longneck as they say in some places) of VB in one hand, and you can see he has a few teeth missing. And your eyes randomly meet – he’s over to the right and it’s a wide pavement – and you both smile at each other across the other people, so naturally and kindly without missing a beat and you feel buoyed as you keep walking.

You can’t always get what you want but you find sometimes, you might just find…. nothing flirtatious or provocative, just two people syncing; reading each other, doing the best they can to be real.

And you keep walking, feeling the rain soaking into your shoes and the warm breeze fluttering your cardigan (a deep pink colour) that you’d bought the week before from the op shop.

Jacqueline Bishop: Gypsy and pilgrim