I’m getting older. The sun leaves more marks than it used to and they don’t go away as soon or as completely. But the wind still ruffles my hair -- especially when I need it most not to. And jeeps are still too tall to get into gracefully. Some things never quite change.

I remove my Sunday hat and the scarf that comes with it. I release a sigh of relief -- a strange place to do it, I know -- and pick up the phone beside the glass. Paul’s face beams at the sight of me.

I’m happy here.

 

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