the week came and past, punctuated by a song that makes them smile. at the weekend, spring was alive. the sun shone and the flowers blossomed and puppies were out to play. they spent mornings basking in the sunlight streaming through their curtains as they woke slowly. the home was scented with green tea fragrance oil and they celebrated time together. she saw sparkles and gowns at the city's celebrated gala. she played the piano for him, and he closed his eyes in enjoyment. they spent sunday at the granville island market, weaving in and out of rows of organic produce with a cup of hot hazelnut tea. they watched the wonder in peoples' faces as they took in the vast array of products and sampled the whole earth on their lips. he squeezed her hand a little tighter when three-year old twins, one boy and one girl, with soft olive skin and almond eyes ran by. the littles were dressed in ivory cable knit under leather jackets. the girl had sheepskin boots and her black hair tied into two bouncy knots on her head. the boy wore a tweed newsboy cap. the two babes were stylish and giggly; he smiled at her, knowing she'd find them beautiful. live music rang through the island, seagulls flocked. they ordered lebanese street food and walked around the ocean, basking in the warmth. they spread out in a lush green space, at the edge of the water and watched the magnolias bloom, the the cyclists rush past and the mamas push babies in prams. they stayed for hours, so content to be warm and to be loved and to be together. they stayed in the sun so long that his forehead began to color. as the air finally started to cool, they walked all the way home, where he ran her a hot bath to soak in. she soaked and soaked for so long that her fingers and toes were wrinkled beyond recognition. he kissed her hands, closed his eyes and took in the feeling of weathered skin against his lips. when he opened his eyes again to look at her, he said, this is what it will feel like to kiss your fingers in sixty years. i cannot wait. it was late, and they had not yet eaten. they spread the table with mediterranean olives, with flickering tea lights, with thinly sliced prosciutto, with crusty bread, with extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vvinegar. they made a salad of vime-ripe tomatoes, fresh bocconcini, torn basil. most of a bottle of australian white was poured into their glasses as they savored small bites. late in to the night, satisfied.
