Andy and I are walking up Fryman canyon. It’s a splendid morning, the mountains are clearly wrinkled across the verdant valley, echoing our own slowly aging faces. This is Sunday in the park sans George in my LA circa 2011.
“This is a perfect moment,” I say, stopping to appreciate the view. “Our kids haven’t yet left and my parents are still alive, I’m halfway up this hill with you…”
“It is a perfect moment,” she says as we walk on together. I grow a tiny bit sad, “But it’s not your perfect moment—your parents have already passed and…”
“For me, every moment is a perfect moment,” Andy says, simply. I take this in.
“Then you’re happy and this truly is a perfect moment. And I’ve nothing to say.”
(except, perhaps, Namaste)
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
True…just perfect
xx
So lovely. This brought a much needed smile to my face and soul. Namaste.
You’re married to a wise woman. No surprise there! How wonderful that you live the perfect moments together, side by side, sharing gratitude.
Bruce, here’s to a life of realizing only a succession of perfect moments. Best, Mark
Beautiful and perfect. Thanks for sharing.
Perfect indeed. Namaste.
Lovely. It’s all perfect isn’t it.
Beautiful, to be able to share this together.
It would be more perfect if there were a hotel.