We pulled up to the house, my Love and I, under a beautifully overcast sky. The air was warm with a chill breeze around the edges, and I asked him if we might take a walk instead of retreating inside to sit in front of our respective screens. He wasn’t sure. It was the sort of day that made him want to simply sit. I suggested retrieving a book and finding a bench and he agreed.
I scampered into the house and returned with One Thousand Gifts. Our honeymoon had come to an end, but we had a few chapters to read yet.
A couple of blocks later I realized I didn’t have to wait until we found our bench, so I slipped one hand around his right arm and held the book open in the other. He guided me around puddles as I read.
When we came to the bench, he spread his great coat open so that I could join him in and on it (the bench was wet). A few drops of left-over rain shook loose from the leaves overhead, spattering the spread of pages. The paper dried in time for me to turn the page.
And so we sat, my love and I, breathing freshly-washed air and absorbing grace-soaked words from almost-damp pages. I had forgotten how excellent a companion a book makes.
I must make a habit of carrying one with me.