F&C

she stood at the kitchen window 

her hands,

wrinkled wet from 

a sink full of dirty dishes 

and Dawn soap.

i saw her husband

close in from behind

his equally wrinkled 
and weathered hands 

[rigorous years of roof work will do that to a man]

gently land on her tired shoulders.

he worked the aching muscle

softening it, 

pressing in with 

his strong thumbs 

to slowly erase 

the heaviness of the day

that sticks to one's back 
and shoulders 

after a long day.

no one saw him do that

[well, except me 
because I was spying from 
my window j
ust across theirs]

and no one asked him to do that.

these quiet moments,

these small thoughtful 
acts of service 

are what make up a marriage.

the mundane, 
the un noticed, 

the unglamorous.

what a tiny gift to 
witness this 

in a marriage that has weathered 

and thrived for 
over 60 years 

still doing the small

thoughtful 
things 

with 

Great Love.