He stands towering next to her. One hand gently stirring the creamer and sugar into her coffee, the other hand, ever so gently stroking her back.  The years show, for her in her curved spine, for him in his snow white beard.  There is a rhythm to their movements.  A perfect symphony.   And only when he receives the nod does he proceed to sit down to his own breakfast.  Minutes pass.  Verbal silence permeates the air.  The visual conversation is palpable.  Depths of love form an impenetrable bubble around them, some of it spilling over to the lucky witnesses, myself included.  Home.  That is what it is.  A sense of home. Nothing more.  Nothing less.  The illusion of body and mind tossed to the wind.  An unexplainable connection of the souls.  The only need, to be in each other’s presence.  Unprepared, a tear escapes from my eye.  She stands, unaware of her surrounding, ready to leave.  Age has erased the norm.  He scrambles to clear the table.  She, already on her way out the door.  He, not even two steps behind her.  Claiming her hand and offering the protection a mother does her child, they walk into the world, aware only of each other.

Reality is often more beautiful than fiction.  This unfolded in front of me in the coffee shop this morning.