Love That Endures

From my office I view the world through a window above the porch. The sunshine is golden now and the shadows are long. It is not really cold but the savage westerly wind makes it so. The snowbanks are brown from the melting and record-setting warmth of the last few days. The predominant color is a dirty brown instead of the brilliant whiteness that accompanied the below-zero brutality before the thaw.

The same black Buick pulls up to the cafe and the elderly couple emerges in arthritic fashion as they have for years. They eat at the cafe at four o'clock each day. The man wears a black hat with a brim. It is made of some kind of fur. He reaches into the back seat and pulls out his cane, achingly slow. The collar of his black quilted coat is up and as he shuts the rear door his wife emerges from around the back of the car, shuffling in tiny steps. She joins her man and takes hold of his arm and they shuffle, leaning against the wind, to the cafe door.