I still follow behind.
Slowly.
Slowly I dance behind you. You hear my beating feet along the ground. Maybe a little less strong upon the earth.
I notice, though, that your beat has slackened.
I don't say anything to you about it. You are my strength, my guide. Tom. My guardian. Our slower dance allows us to experience light in a different pattern.
I see both of you so gray. My hiking buddies. My old boys, now. We match, all of us.
Yesterday, Tom, we joked how the velvety soft undersides of my "old lady" arms are so comfortable to lay your old man shoulders and head within. Lay your troubles down.
We are spinning and dancing together. Age may allow us to dance just a little more slowly, but still with glee and wonder and glory and sometimes like these quite moments in the forest and woods. Love is the chorus line.
Peace.
Brianne
