He watched her walking along their fence, softly humming to herself. A sliver of the top of the sun was just discernible on the eastern horizon now.
A butterfly was following behind her and each time she would slow down, most times for no reason, the butterfly’s momentum would carry it dangerously close to her hair. Then she would continue and the butterfly would flap its wings in a frantic attempt to stay close to her.
It was wintertime and it seemed odd that a butterfly could be sustained in the cold weather, but he understood what loving this woman could mean and the lengths one would go to be near her.
She always took her walk around their property at first light. She would slowly sneak out of their bed, in a vain attempt at not waking him, and each time he would lie there feigning sleep. She would slip out of her bedclothes and into something that hung on her like a drape, something comfortable.
She would leave their bedroom and go downstairs. When he heard her open the door of the mudroom, he would get up and stand out of sight behind the French doors that led to the balcony just off their bedroom. He knew she was putting her boots on and maybe a jacket if the temperature called for it.
The sun would just be coming up over the rolling hills east of their property. She would exit the mudroom and face the rising sun as if welcoming an old friend into her heart. She would stretch, arms pushed towards the sky, right leg, then left, lunged and held forward, her quadriceps and hamstrings hoping that this was just a bad dream, fingers to toes, her calves straining as she rose to the tips of her toes and held herself there.
All the while he watched her ritual, which had become their ritual, his heart racing with the joy of the just born.
He watched her walking along their post and rail fence towards the new sun, her breath billowing out as white smoke in front of her. He looked at her hair, neatly pulled back into a ponytail as it jostled recklessly to and fro about her head.
He watched her walk out of sight and then he went downstairs and put their kettle on the stove. He would take down her favorite mug and a bag of her favorite tea and leave them for her.
He would then return to the French doors that led to the balcony just off their bedroom and stand there patiently, watching the fence on the opposite side of their property for the sight of her again. He would see her almost one half mile away as she came towards the house, all the while falling more deeply in love with her as he had done every moment since he had met her.
He would hear the door to their mudroom open and eventually her footsteps coming back up the stairs. He would hear her blowing in her teacup attempting to cool it off. He would lie back in their bed, but on her side, and move over when she entered the room, so she could come and lie within his warmth after her walk in the cold.
She would put her cup down on the nightstand, get undressed and move against him, her left arm draped over his chest, her mouth and her sweet breath pulsating in his ear, her left leg curled up on his abdomen. She would whisper I love you until she fell back asleep feeling the safety and peace that only the nearness of him can bring.
After he was sure that she was deep within her sleep, he allowed her sweet breath and lips against his ear to act as his lullaby and he too, fell into the abyss of love filled sleep that only she can give to him.
