Not so long ago, in our little town by the bay, there lived an old man, short and stout with a round face and thick legs and red suspenders and a dirty brown coat with buttons of all different sizes and colors. And his wife, an old lady with shades of silver in her hair all wrapped in a coil the way the ladies did from a different time, wore big black boots (given to her by her husband, I suppose), taped all around in a circle to keep them from falling off. She wore a faded red apron with green leaves and flowers and torn edges and stains. Her legs were so short and rosy that you swore they were barely long enough to touch the ground.

Now at the end of a long trail that ran by the bay, past the high houses of the rich man and the shanties of the poor, past goats and sheep and little children who might call you “sir” and “ma’am” and things like that, there was a bench sitting right by the water. Made from rocks and stones and older than any other thing, those who took the time to reach it found it ideal for sitting and kissing and cooing and holding hands and saying sweet things. And everyday, about the same time or so, the old couple suddenly appeared on the trail, stepping carefully among the rocks and weeds and all the messy parts of the sea. The man would hold the lady’s hand when her legs would shake, and the woman would stroke the man’s hair when he lost his breath and had to rest.

We all looked out our windows when they came, and smiled and said clever things and made wild guesses as to who the old couple was. Children looked on with sparkling eyes (though not really knowing what they were seeing). The housewives would clutch their dish towels and think of their own times when love was fresh and new. Even the men would look up from their tools and wipe their greasy hands on old rags and look wistfully toward the bay.

At last the old couple made it to the bench that sat by the sea. The man took the old woman’s hands and lowered her gently. Then the old man bent down in front of his lady, and she didn’t seem to mind. He took the glasses from her nose and let them slip into a pocket. And she didn’t seem to mind. He reached for her hand and stroked it with his fingers. And she didn’t seem to mind.

The man took both the lady’s hands in his, looking hopefully into her eyes. And then softly … slowly … gently … he kissed her, the way a hummingbird might take nectar from a flower.

She pulled a hand away and stroked the hair from his eyes. Then she kissed him on the lips with a long tender caress.

And then they would go away.

How do you describe a love without using words? Perhaps this was a way.

Yet one day the man came, and he was alone. He took the same stuttering steps, he slipped down onto the bench. He sat there with his head bowed and his legs crossed and bent beneath him. He felt the sun in his face and the wind blowing his hair in a tumble across his forehead. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was lost in distant memories of his pretty girl. Maybe he was waiting for someone to save him.

At last, and near at dusk, he stirred as if awakened. He pulled his pocket watch on its long chain and checked the time. In the village, and from every window, hearts were heavy, children looked on with sad eyes, it seemed as if they were ready to cry (and they didn’t know why). The men kicked at the floors in their workshops, and decided perhaps it was time to go back to work.

But no one moved at all. By this time most of the town had lined the streets and stood along the shore, silently watching the old man. Even the dogs lay down on their haunches and failed to sniff the air (or do anything else that dogs do).

The old man took a heavy sigh that seemed to tear itself from his body. He looked down at the empty bench, he ran his eyes along the long trail. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a bright and happy daisy.

He placed the daisy gently on the bench and smoothed it out with his hand. After that he hobbled slowly away.

The people were very, very sad. They didn’t want to embarrass the old man, though I don’t think he would have noticed anyway.

I guess that time takes very, very long steps, but it comes down quickly when it’s done.