.A summer story

My elderly neighbour is a sporty person. Summer or winter I can spot him on one of his bike rounds. The sweltering summer days can't hold him back and he conquers the ruts during the winter month. Mounted on his two-wheeler his lean, middle-height body appers taller. He is a gentle, courteous man with an affable face. Obviously, he was a handsome fellow in his younger years. He was my mom's teacher in grammar school, smitten female students called him Johnny, the counterpart of his Hungarian name. Perhaps the boys also called him so as a sign of admiration, I don't know.

This summer he takes two rounds every day, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. His wife passed last week after a long illness. He had been supporting her in her elongated suffering. I keep spotting him every morning in the saddle, his green bike glinting black in the dazing sun*. He doesn't wear mourning, black would be unberable in the heat.

* I wrote "dazing" instead of "dazzling" intentionally.