I watch from the vantage point of my chair, grateful for thehot coffee cup that warms my hands in the brisk spring morning.  The early sun filters through her grayinghair and emphasizes the laugh lines on her face.   It’s not spring for us but early autumn.  The years have sped by and now it’s just thetwo of us.

“Don’t forget to water the azalea,” I say.  She doesn’t turn but I hear the exasperationin her voice.

“You say that to me every morning.  I think by now I’d remember.”  I smile. I know she remembers.  I just wantto hear the way her voice rises when she’s perturbed.  She sounds so righteously indignant.  It’s so her.

She turns and my heart skips a beat, still, at the sight ofher beautiful face, the fullness of her lips.  She sees the smirk on my face then. “Oh, you said it on purpose!” She shakes her head and continues her watering.  I smile wider.

So many years together, yet every day is new because I spendit with her.  In the beginning, there wasyelling, screaming, crying.  Then therewas respect, consideration and kindness as we learned to understand whatmattered, what was important.    We raised children, suffered loss and exultedin triumphs, and through it all, we grew closer.

I sip my coffee and watch her, so diligent in her care of theflowers and realize, I am her flower. She helped me to bloom into what I was meant to be.  She has said I am her water, fluid and constant.  Together we have cultured a perfectrelationship.   The maze of our mindsblended into a road only we could have traveled together.

“Are you coming in?” she asks.  I rise and take her hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dear.”  And I wouldn’t.  I know she’ll have her coffee in bed, turnthe TV on and curl close to me.   No wordswill be spoken, none need to be.  Perhapswe will make love with our bodies blended together, but if not, I know that we makelove every day with our hearts and with our minds.  We are two women in love living anextraordinary life of intimacy.  Iwouldn’t change a thing.