Out wandering in the fields across the valley, my path crosses with a man walking his doberman.
Momentarily, I hang back; I don’t have a great experience with dogs exercised in these parts.
Sensing my apprehension, the owner feeds his hound treats from his pocket to distract it.
It works, and the animal passes without paying any attention to me at all.
But by now, I’m looking inward. The owner I estimate to be about five years older than me.
I’m thinking company director. Lawyer. Accountant, maybe. A professional.
More than that, I’m thinking, “A man.” I’m talking maturity here.
When I look at myself, I just see a kid. When I look at others, it’s completely different.
I feel like I’m still finding my feet. I didn’t see the years passing by. I can’t account for the life lived.
But here I am, almost fifty, and yet I don’t even see myself as a man like that.
These thoughts occupy me all the way home, traipsing back up the hill.
Who on earth am I? Man or boy?
Last modified: 9 June 2024
