Shorts and a tee shirt, my flip-flops click against my heals as we walk. A cold mist blows in off the ocean and plants tiny balls of moisture into my beard, we walk faster. My wife pulls her knit cap down over her ears and buttons the top button of her heavy dark blue P-coat hiding her red sweatshirt completely. She pulls on the brim of her Tilley hat to tighten the seal between the knit cap and her head. She has tight cotton leg warmers stuffed into her boots, reaching two pair of thick hiking socks. The leg warmers and socks are known to me only because I watched the dressing process; brick red corduroy pants pulled down over the tops of her black leather boots hide them completely. As we leave the beach behind and near the end of the wooden pier the wind picks up a little and the wife wraps the long scarf she crocheted around her neck an extra wrap. The pier ends and our brisk walk ends with it. We lean against the railing and watch the waves break, wave upon wave until they disappear into a bank of fog. Lost in the immense body of water before us we stare in silence.
“Dear,” my loved one breaks the silence and looks at me with tear filled eyes. Her tears do not come from emotion but from the cold wet mist.
“Yes,” I turn and look into her eyes, waiting for her to continue.
“I’m cold,” she shivers to make her point. We turn and walk toward the beach; I pull her close to offer what warmth I can.