True Love



Wrinkles wound deep furrows along his face, itself a crumpled memory of handsomer years – his eyes, however, had not lost their bright lustre and twinkled at me now with good humour.

“Don’t mind me, me boy. I’m just messin’ witcha.”

I smiled tentatively in response, my young ego more than a little bruised at his insightful mirth.

“You’re right of course, Grandpa. She is a pretty fine lass with broad, child-bearing hips, but tis her mind that entrances me.”

The old man laughed out loud: “A young man who loves a woman’s mind more than her hips? Well now I've seen everything.”