Dave

It's Saturday morning. 
I'm walking through crowds to the market, fruit and vegetables, perhaps sausage and beer too. Sometimes my bones feel that patina of another decade added in an extra half-step for the familiar stairs. 
It doesn't worry me much, this slow exchange of atoms for time and the entropy of unwinding days.

My trudging feet are winter-pale, daring in old leather sandals at the first hints of summer that unfolded in the city today. 
The street scene is lively. For a moment I wonder about the populace of my neighborhood, it seems more polyglot than usual and my imagination rotates, hesitating between gears. I shrug and keep moving, a burly fish patrolling the canyons of his reef.

At home, in my apartment, I have student books to review. 
Today, I'll set out my work on the dining-room table, the light there is good and the silent study can enjoy its weekend illusions. 
Later, she'll come through the doorway, her presence familiar, welcome, a home within a home. In between our companionable silences, in the interaction of inconsequential things, we weave unconsciously upon the fabric of marriage, friendship and yes, the love word too.