Fly on the Wall
It was the beginning of the new season of the neighbourhood social hour. Darker days and damp chilly weather were pushing people inside. About a dozen guests were either perched on stiff dining room chairs or sinking into oversized couches or slithering on a shiny leather lazy-boy.
The hostess offered an assortment of drinks for any taste: beer, wine, non-alcoholic beer, soft drinks, tea. Nibbles were picked up with tongs and nestled into azure-blue glass mini bowls. A couple of floor lamps cast a dim light over the living room. No one was in the spotlight.
A couple of extroverts carried the conversation as newcomers to the group tried to see where they might fit in . Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle first attempts to connect didn't always work. Alcohol helped to blur the awkwardness for some of the people.
A nondescript senior woman sipped her tea and studied the others, noticing slight tensions here and there, little bursts of friendliness, maneuverings to get some attention. She joined in when necessary but mostly she blended into the background.
It was interesting to be the fly on the wall. More fodder for her stories.
A ring-billed seagull in Lake Ontario catching some waves on a bright autumn day.
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