The running boy

In a small concentrated corner of the local park, a woman was frantically picking up stones and throwing them into bushes and the trees low hanging branches for her black dog to run after, the dog bounding through the tall, unkempt grass, almost as fast as the stones travelled. I don't know how the dog could keep up, but it did. The woman would throw the stones one direction, then change course to another, and so it went. I don't know if the dog found the stones. How could it have known which stones were thrown? There was no time for it to inspect them beforehand, for any distinguishing marks, or to identify the shape, colour or smell. If I was the dog, I think this would have drove me mad, but maybe the woman was trying to keep up with the dog. I did go back to the same spot after walking around the park for a bit, but they'd gone. I guess I will never know.

There was only two people out jogging. One man was running back and forth on the path within a short designated distance, not that dissimilar to the dog but on the hard tarmac in his sober running gear didn't look as if he was having as much fun as the dog. It did get me thinking about how I used to run long distances when I was a kid, with ease, and I was quite fast considering I was the shortest in my year at school. I ran all the way home one lunchtime without stopping. I can't think what for. I think I'd forgotten something. But I just ran, and ran, and remember vividly running down Fulwell Road, and feeling exhilarated.