Cathy and Ernesto were professors at a near-by University—intelligent, mid-life, world-traveled and childless lovers. She, German, with fine long white hair, transparent blue eyes and a melodic birdsong voice and he, Northern Italian with the burly head of a bull inset with coal black eyes. Although the sight of them was startlingly opposite, their hearts beat as one.
They frequently spoke in the romance languages—Catalan, French, Italian—but always referred to each other in her native German as “leibling”, darling. In quiet voice and fluid motion they moved about their house, bringing down books from high shelves, reading to each other by the fire and weeping over opera. Evening meals took hours—every morsel savored, every gift and giver praised.
On weekends they gathered apricots, figs, grapes, walnuts, olives, mushrooms—whatever the Los Gatos hills freely offered. One of them would find a particularly beautiful specimen and call to the other who came running to inspect the treasured thing as if life itself depended on it.
Such romantic coupling and compatibility I’d never seen. Their life looked like a blissful but unattainable dream. What made it so beautiful wasn’t that they were stunning to look at or that they were intellectuals chock full of worldly experience. It was how they communicated and moved together with such sensitivity and delight. It was their acute awareness and reverent response to each other and the world around them—a choice to be fully present with a heart full of love. This same choice is possible for any couple anywhere. Cathy and Ernesto weren’t angels walking among us, just two people gathering fruit.
