The mating ritual

As the sun set over the mountains it felt like the whole world was bathed in an orange hue. After a long cold winter we were on the cusp of spring. There was still the residue of snow on the ground but the days were warmer and the sun had finally rediscovered its mojo.  I watched them doing their mating dance; the male preening and posing, cocksure in his movements. He was strong too strong for her, quite rough in his moves, he’d grab, hold, pin her down then wait, suddenly unsure of what to do, too young to really know the purpose of this game. The female was enjoying the attention; strangely in control despite her inferior strength. She let him take hold and then pinch her way free, escaping his clutches but not running away, allowing herself to be caught again. It was like a play with no script, two improvisers trying to work out each other's actions, trying to work out their own instincts. They were only about 13, probably thought they were playing a game rather than performing a time-honoured ritual. For a moment it made me wish I was that age again, until I realised I wasn’t very good at it then either.