We walk hand in hand down an old country lane. The boxwood trees cast long shadows on the road in the fading light of the fall afternoon, and the beams flickering through their branches make her green eyes sparkle. Her luxurious mane of long, flaxen hair drifts in the breeze, as free and unrestrained as her spirit. She’s younger than I, but just being with her always seems to subtract ten years, making me feel young too.
I’m pretty lucky, I think, reflecting on the good fortune that has brought me here. This beautiful woman walking beside me would be the envy of any man, and indeed turns the heads of both sexes no matter where we go. Brilliant and successful, she’s got everything going for her. I could not be more proud to be in her company.
With brilliance and success come responsibilities, of course. She’s a busy woman. It’s not often that we can find the time to step outside on a nice day, leave the house, the office, and the world behind, and explore the far reaches of the family estate together. This afternoon, it’s just the two of us. The rarity makes the walk even more pleasurable.
The lane gradually becomes a trace, and the trace becomes a barely visible scar in the lush, green grass. Further on, even that gives way to a trackless meadow dotted with daisies. We pause for a moment, freezing in our tracks, as I quietly point out a white-tailed deer grazing at the edge of the forest beyond. A twig snaps and the doe becomes instantly alert, then bounds away, moving with easy grace and surprising quickness. We watch her disappear into the pines.
Pine cones crunching beneath our feet, we plunge into the peaceful forest. The ground is a rust-colored carpet of pine needles, and the sky an evergreen canopy. We make our way along a narrow path that gradually steepens and becomes a strenuous climb. The ground is rockier here. We keep up our pace, relishing the exercise, and I secretly give thanks that I can still stay with her. I might huff and puff a bit, but I’m there!
Eventually, the path opens out onto a wide, lichen-covered limestone bluff. We clamber over some jagged rocks and around some shrubs to reach the edge, where we then stand, transfixed. Below, spread out like a map, we see our home and the lush fields that surround it. It’s really quite a vista. The sun has just begun to make its final plunge toward the horizon, coloring the clouds a deep, rich umber and casting a warm light over the landscape.
We don’t talk much. As we stand, taking in the view from one of our favorite spots, an occasional glance is sufficient for communication. We know each other so well, from a lifetime of conversations, that no words are needed at a time like this. Her arm finds my waist, and mine her shoulder. We smile, gaze, and rest.
We spend many precious minutes in just that way, embracing, letting the moment wash over us like the fading sunlight. The shadows grow impossibly long, and the sky fades. When the sun is merely a dome of crimson sinking into a sea of reddish hues, we turn and begin the walk back down to the house.
As her delicate hand once again seeks out mine and we amble back into the forest, I pause just at the tree line. She turns toward me, expectantly, as if she knows I need to say something. I suddenly do feel the urge to share something, something specific and vital. I look into those familiar, beautiful eyes, now gleaming in the last light of a perfect day, and the words tumble out effortlessly, quickly, earnestly.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too, dad.”
We embrace again and walk on. Mom’s waiting.