purpose, jig, pea

To see a line of cars for the first time might create speculation as to its purpose.

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In the Pantiles a man sits on a wall and plays a jig on a flute. People walk past. No one dances.

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I put my hand in the pocket where I keep my notebook and encounter, in addition to the book, five pea pods. I had put them there for safe keeping when I was picking peas in the vegetable garden this morning. I split one open and munch the peas one by one, sweet and green and fresh as the dew on daisy. I return the remaining pods to my pocket and think to myself: if I meet someone I will proffer an open pod and say, 'do you want a pea?". Depending of course on whom it is I meet.