On the Underground

There was a lovely couple on the Underground from Paddington Station to Victoria. Easily in their 70's, or older. He was a tall, slim, white man, wearing pressed brown trousers, blue shirt, blue sweater vest, and tasteful brown lace up shoes. She was a medium height, black woman, gorgeous face, wearing a long gray skirt, white blouse, blue sweater wrapped around her shoulders, sandals, and pedicured purple toe nails. They were standing in the doorway of the train leaning on the yellow hand rail, looking at the map and discussing the stops. The way they looked at each other, and spoke to each other was full of love and respect. They were so comfortable with each other, and with themselves. The way he leaned against the yellow hand rail was poetry. His long legs stretched out crossed at the ankles, arms crossed at the wrists behind his back. Her left arm was resting on the rail, hand on his right shoulder. She only moved it once to fix his windblown silvery gray hair. 


I learned a lot about myself in those moments, watching them.