April 3, 2013

The kata flowed like water, each stance melting into the next, not pausing, because water did not pause, it froze, and this was a liquid art. She stepped back in slow motion, hands moving to catch an opponent who did not exist except in memory and training, moving further press the imaginary opponent into another place, one foot lifting to swing through the air where an opponent would be, had the press struck flesh.

One removed, she slid a foot across the grass, crouching and passing both hands above, then below as she rose to her full height and stepped away again. Both legs kicked up, one following the other, the height of the arc reaching almost a foot above her head, the arc of a spray of water. The grass gave as she landed, and she stood, one hand drawing back while the other reached forward, ending with a stance not unlike and archer.

She stared at nothing, the water coming to rest at last, and she lowered her hands to her sides, ending with a flick of her fingers as if she shook droplets of water away, losing the feel of the kata, the water.

“Mamamamamama!” weight thumped against her legs and she sat down, chosing to yield rather than punch down and free her legs.

She swung Obie into the air with her feet, holding him steady with their hands clasped. The toddler squealed with delight. “Pwayka 'gain.”

“I never tire of watching you dance.”

She looked over at the man, a slightly older child hanging off the skirts of his coat, a thumb in her mouth as she looked. There was a new worn spot on his cuff, he looked a little softer than he had a decade ago, his hair a bit thinner, but his smile was the same. “And the neighbors never tire of being scandalized by me.”

He looked over her head, nodding, a rueful smile, “Unfortunately true.” He lifted Obie off her legs and held out a hand to help her once he had the toddler on the ground. She let him help her to her feet, and stepped into his arms, hugging him. “Their loss,” he whispered in her ear.

She stretched and rubbed the top her head against his chin fuzz beard. “Love you lots.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “Love you more.” He kissed her head. “And first meal is waiting, Goodwife Jeremiah.”

She laughed and swung Obie up into her arms while he picked up Letty. “Then lets go eat, Pastor Jeremiah.”