As the last of the day’s light fades, I notice two sets of footprints in the sand.
They are freshly made.
Their stride is short, suggesting the slowest of walks along a beach recently made flat by a receding ocean.
They have a symmetry, a unison, a connection.
They have a story.
In places they seem to converge; to merge. Yet they are still unique; they are still individual. But they are intertwined.
When they wander away from their straight path ahead, they wander together.
When they part, they do so only briefly; falling easily back into step as they meet again.
At intervals, they appear to stop for a moment. They turn to face each other; almost touching, toes digging into the sand.
And when they turn to leave the beach, their path ends.
Their path ends where we left our shoes.
They are our footprints. They are our story.
In an hour or two, the incoming tide will wash them away. It doesn’t matter. The memory of the time we shared, the hand we held, the smile we returned, can never be erased.
And we have so many more footprints to leave.
29th June 2017