I walked around the lake at lunchtime. The sun was hanging in the same place it does on early Summer mornings, throwing long shadows across the bright grass. It does not feel like Summer.
For some reason, everyone I passed today was walking in a group of three. Everyone.
What's more, each trio consisted of two men on the outside and a woman in the middle - all walking round together, chatting about forthcoming business trips, absent managers and from the snippets I picked up as I overtook them, the current state of US politics.
Don't worry. I'm not going there.
Why three, I wonder? And why did the lady always end up in the middle? Is it a complicated combination of a person suggesting a walk but not wanting to go on their own, or with one other person (of either gender) on such a cold day? Is there some hidden dynamic going on where one man feels he ought to protect the lady in the middle from the other? That seems a bit over the top, even if it's subconscious.
Still, it would be a bit sad and lonely to go round the lake on your own on such a cold day, wouldn't it?
Anyway, I stopped on the little bridge and peered into the stream at my reflection. An upside down man in gloves waved back at me. Then a swan skimmed over and hissed.
I suddenly remembered that this is the spot where the lady who feeds them stands, scooping bird-feed out of a sack and showering it into the lake.
I went back inside.
It could just be that three is a good number - the strongest, smallest group in some ways.
Plus, it occurred to me later, that three people walking side-by-side is exactly the right width for the path.
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