I love the pre-dawn hour at Joggers’ Park. I love to watch the Sun’s first rays that look pink in the sky and then golden when they hit the grass. I love the way the dawn’s first clouds are dressed up in multicoloured satin and the way the World appears so much at peace with itself. I love being alone in the early dawn’s half-light; it’s like  Nature’s telling me something.

    I don’t remember the first time I saw her in the park but that doesn’t matter. I don’t remember how it felt to have to share that breathtaking first sunlight with another, but  .  I’m aware that her presence in the Park makes my morning walk richer.

     She is there every mornto soar ing, striding haughtily with her back erect and chest out, the gleam of sweat adding a healthy shine to her face. The outline of her breasts beneath the damp sweatshirt front add a sexiness as I watch her with riveted eyes and a heartbeat  that’s uncomfortably noisy.

    A hooded cap covers her eyes and forehead, and I can see a straight nose with a prettily upturned tip. Full lips-red, I’m imagining,  a  gently curving  outline of  her jaw  which ends where the silver of her earring reflects the dawn’s half-light make up her lower face.   . Yet, it’s a half formed image and half my imagination, but  like a naked woman’s silhouette, it arouses prurient thoughts. .I’d begun to believe that that the  face so hidden from me must indeed be quite beautiful. 

    I wonder if she notices me chugging down the joggers’ track  in the opposite direction, and if she has, whether she’s wondered who I am….these and other silly and amorous thoughts fill my head every morning before the day had broken and  while the grey dawn serves as a lid on my thoughts .