Saturday morning

 As I sit at the keyboard I hear your footsteps: you’re standing behind me, and I can feel the warmth of your smile. Turning towards you I see you are already wearing your running gear, the knee-length black leggings, the light blue t-shirt – o my. “C’mon jarhead, time to shake your bulk!” The sun is out, a little breeze waves through the long grass, as we warm up on the path that follows the railway line. I am following you, dreaming, my eyes riveted on those lovely oscillating buttocks and legs. Of course, I miss a step, trip and nearly flatten my “bulk” in deep mud. I hear the crystal bells of your laugh, now well ahead of me: catching you up, my love, is no easy challenge, but I try. Now we approach the motorway bridge, which flies over the railway, leaving just enough space for the path to pull underneath to the other side, then there is a gate and a little hill. Running up the hill you clearly show the advantage of lightness: at half my weight there is no way I can compete with you – but you don’t expect me to, you slow down and blow me a kiss: the sunlight plays in your hair, slowly I catch up, and we run now next to each other, over the footbridge, now above the motorway, through the sports fields, following the road back to our house.

After showering we stand naked in our room, you applying some cream on your beloved face… and I suggest: “I have a plan for the day…” But you have another priority… looking at me in the mirror: ”Just behind you, is where you start Dupuis!” Behind me is the bed. Funny thing, it has been in my head all the time.

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