A woman sits on a bench, in a park, as a red sun sets. She is beautiful, in a fierce sort of way; youthful in looks, but wise in her gaze. She watches the people as they pass by and go about their daily lives. The woman is at ease; at peace (some would say).

The sun is steady fading, and she sees something between the people and the trees and the rest of life around her. She sees a man, or rather the outline of a man in the evening dusk. The woman cannot see the man clearly, but she knows who he is, and who he once was. She knows his hair is well beyond pepper-grey. She knows his skin is old and weathered. She knows his hands are tanned and rough, but also gentle and familiar. She knows his smile will be the same as it has always been: breathtakingly warm. And his eyes—as she also knows— are a blue to be envied, and have a kindness to be worshipped. She knows these things, because she knows every inch of him; body, mind, and soul.

The young woman—of fierce beauty, and well learned grace— waits no longer; her visitor has arrived. And so…the woman smiles, with the tenderness of a girl in love.