He refers to them as “swans.”
When Alpha talks about his mom and dad, he says they are like swans. He’s always had great respect, admiration and affection for his aging parents. It’s lovely. And good for him. And from his stories they seem devoted. Together. Deeply bonded. Profoundly connected.
You see couples like this on occasion. Older couples whose lives are woven together. There is an adoration of one for the other that is timeless.
It’s tangible. When you see a couple like this, people stop and look—with respect and admiration. It’s rare.
These couples walk arm in arm. Not for balance. And it’s not chivalry. Tho I’m sure there’s a bit of both in there. But that’s not why they do it.
They do it because they are connected. And each feels better, indeed complete, knowing the other is there. It’s a gentle, affirming touch that keeps them connected, in the simplest of moments.
The touch is instinctive, gentle and intimate. It is both casual and profound.
There’s an older couple who walk down my street each morning in the spring and fall. I assume winter is too cold for them and summer is miserable. So, in the spring and fall they walk. Slowly. Together.
Odds are someone told them this would be good for them. There is a bit of duty to their stride. But even in the obligation of following doctor’s orders there is devotion. Where one goes the other follows.
I thought ducks did that. But Alpha says swans. He’s usually right about most things.
This is an older (very old), Italian couple. They are similar in size and shape. Even on a mild spring morning they are bundled up. And they hold (mitten covered) hands as they walk.
I usually pass them in my car, but on a few mornings, I’ve been out with the dog when they approached. They seem undeterred by my ill mannered canine, and they stay their course, moving down the sidewalk with purpose. Not speed, just purpose.
They seem to follow the same route, on the same schedule each day.
And here’s the best part. They walk to music.
Yep, in their clasped hands, they have a smart phone. And it’s playing (are you ready . . .) That’s Amore.
Every time they go by, the music plays. It’s a bit loud . ..odds are they need it turned up to hear it. It’s always the same song. But I see them at the same place each morning. They must start their play list when they leave their house, and since they surely follow the same route, at generally the same pace, That’s Amore is playing when they turn the corner to my house.
They don’t talk when they walk. And certainly no ear buds to tune the world out. They walk slowly. Together. Holding hands. To a love song.
How awesome is that?