Outside In

      1966: Alone in the car, I was driving along Water Street in Galt and stopped at a red light. The night was dark, mist rolling from the warm waters of the Grand River across the sidewalk and the road. The single streetlight highlighted a transfixing tableau. A woman was walking away from me - long hair buffeted by the breeze, trim body swaying like a panther, soft boot heels resulting in a silent, alluring tread. As my senses drank in the scene, a switch was thrown. Anticipation begged me to stop her, see her face, the expression in her eyes, to hear the timbre of her voice, to make small talk to determine her demeanour. On the outside she was perfection. Just as the light turned green, and I shortened the distance between us, she turned into an alley and, like Ilsa in Casablanca, she was swallowed forever into the mists. To my knowledge, I never saw her again. I'll never know whether her inside reality matched my outside fanciful perception that she presented. ...