He guided her across the lawns. It was a delicate action, there being a fine line between concern and condescension, a line only negotiable with that abiding love that comes with time. Physically her strength was all but gone, along with much of her eyesight, her hearing having petered out some years before. But she must passage the lawns one more time, regardless of the bruising from the canula.
Lowering her onto the weathered boards, he sensed her body’s metronome adjust to that timelessness that he found sensual. Soaking up the beauty of the physical world had, from the beginning, been one of the blessings of this water room, with its harbour glimpses and its natural intimacy. He recalled the squabbles that had accompanied the planting of each mellaleuca, the siting of the bench itself requiring the patience of Job.
They sat together under the overhanging bough, in contemplative silence.