Greg is 80 years old. Ask him though, and he’ll say he isn’t a day past 65. Well, maybe 75. Never mind. Those numbers don’t really matter. Contentment does. In this exact moment, sitting by the pond with his wife, he is content.
He watches as Rebecca crinkles her nose, and grins that half grin she has reserved only for him. The grin that says “I don’t know what you are thinking, but you’re a jerk for thinking it.” He loves that after all these years he could still elicit that look. “What?” she inevitably asks. “You’re beautiful,” he says. She laughs at that. She always does.
Rebecca turns to the pond, and stares at her reflection. She had been beautiful once. She shifts her attention to the ducks and the seagulls floating idly by. She looks up at the trees, and follows a beam of sunlight as it dances past the leaves and dives fearlessly into the water.
She breathes in summer’s fragrance, balmy and saccharine. Ah yes, the scent of the honeysuckle, though unseen, is ever present.
Greg reaches into his pocket, and rummages until he finds what he is looking for. He carefully pulls the item out, positions it just right, and…
Rebecca almost doesn’t hear the click. Almost. Exasperated, she turns to Greg. “Really?!” she says. “Yep!” he answers sheepishly. She hates having her picture taken. Greg knows this. Still he can’t help himself.
He points his camera at her, ready to take another. She glares. He snaps a photo. She scowls. Then another, mid eye-roll, and another sporting what he calls her “angry” look. The next photo has a hint of a smirk. The one after, a smile, and the last captures her mid laughter swiping for the camera. “Enough!” she says catching her breath. This time he acquiesces.
Rebecca shivers and Greg knows it’s time. He helps her up off the grass. They glance once more at the trees, the pond, the ducks and the seagulls. Hand in hand they leave the park as honeysuckle’s sweet aroma escorts them out.