sunday morning

The couple stands atop a small dune, looking out at the Gulf. She is slender and appears younger than he. Her smile is younger, at least, or somehow seems so. He is slender, too. His hair is gray and thinning and blows in the wind. They talk, but their conversation, nothing too intense or intimate, it is assumed by their smiles and carriage, is carried off by the gusts. They might be husband and wife, or perhaps lovers, or could be, more innocently, father and daughter. What they are – how they are – isn’t important. What’s important – and, for that matter, so nice on an overcast, chilly December morning – is that they’re together. Light laughter rolls down from the dune, now. She kisses him on the cheek, puts her arm in his. He kisses her back.