Hold my hand

I can almost taste the salt in the breeze. I can definitely feel the cool sand as it sifts through my toes. I love the feeling of the sand as it creeps through every crevasse of my wrinkled toes.

Beyond my toes the sun is slowly slipping into the horizon. The few clouds in the sky burn brighter and brighter with hues of pink, orange and fire. I know that behind us the darkness is creeping in and soon the sky will glitter with stars. But for now, right now, the light still dominates even as a half circle sizzling the cold blue ocean. Between the horizon and the wispy clouds is a kaleidescope of colors that are like a straight rainbow stretching from north to south. The vibrant oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples and forever black stretch out before us as if we are the only ones watching.

And as every moment passes, I hold her hand. Just as I have done for 50 years. Our fingers intertwine like a vine of grapes in the fields north of us. I never want to let go. Those soft fingers, that are overshadowed by my workman's hands, have always been there. Each trial, struggle, joyous occasion, and after dinner walk has seen the appearance of this feature. Us, intertwined with our hands - together through all of it.

I gently squeeze her hand and draw it to my lips. Tenderly, I caress her hand with my kisses. I then replace her hand to the place it was before. I lean over to her and whisper, "I love you more today, than any day before." And as the sun dips the last rays of light into the sea, she turns to me and says, "And I too love you." All, as she continues to hold my hand tight.