The woman looked her age today. The folds of skin beneath her chin were couched on her shirt collar. Her skin was pale and she'd pulled her gray (not white and not silver) hair back with a band exposing wrinkles and splotches she hadn't bothered to cover with makeup.
Her husband sat beside her at the meeting. He had a bit more color on his face, but his coat and tie in the casual setting suggested a link to days of old that he simply won't release. His bad arm hung loose at his side.
So easy . . . dismissing them as two old geezers would have been so easy.
Then she reached up. (His back was turned so that he could see the speaker.) And she rubbed her hand back and forth across his shoulders. Slightly startled, he turned toward her. She smiled. He smiled and, with his good arm reached behind to gently tug at her foot, the closest available appendage.
Married for 51 years, they still have moments such as these. And in those moments, they are beautiful.
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