The Dancer In The Garden

Who was he to dance in her garden? How long had he been there? If he was a great ballet dancer, that much she had to admit. Almost mesmerisingly good, actually. She'd never seen him before. Just as she'd started on the potatoes she'd looked out the kitchen window and seen him. He was dancing like all the inspirational post that miserable people shared on Facebook said. He was dancing like nobody was watching. The sun was setting behind him. Golden hour engulfed everything in an enchanting light. She dropped the potato in her hand and it splashed into the water in the bottom of the sink. She mindlessly wiped her wet hands with the kitchen towel. She kept her eyes on the strange man dancing around in her garden. She should do something about it. What would the neighbors say? But then again, what harm did he do? He danced and danced in the golden light. She just stood in the kitchen window and watched him flow around the garden. When the sun went down behind the house across the street the man stopped. They locked eyes. He bowed. And left.