Over six decades ago, from the very start of our marriage, we slept spoon fashion. It mattered not who was in the front or in the rear, and if and when we would turn and change position, the spoon configuration would be maintained. When Edythe was in the front or lead position, I would have my arms around her. My subconscious enhanced the feelings I had of protection and possession of my love. Her feelings may have been similar but since each of us is unique, like fingerprints, we have our own opinions and secret cache of personal feelings. With her in my arms after the birth of each child, my dreams, aspirations and devotions increased and intensified.
Spooning distance between us varied with the seasons. On summer nights there was less contact and some physical separation. On the very torpid nights we lay coverless and bare. With artless candor I let my eyes ravish her nakedness. With vanity and vice I would stare and gasp at the phantom of delight that inspired me and helped raise our family. At times I make inspiring remarks, or whisper uninhibited praise. I know she hears and covertly enjoys the accolades, but with affected indifference she pretends to ignore me. Victory and conquest awaits mutual response and participation. With the passage of time and the absolutely irrevocable aging conditions may stem frequency, but does not eradicate our emotions and passion.
In cold weather, under layers of covers our spooning and physical contact is closer. Our body heat adds to our warmth and comfort. In absorbed reverie I reminisce and retrace our journey of trials and tribulations, achievements and happiness, through six decades of togetherness. I am not afraid of dying as I am of being detached and alone, buried in solitude without her. More often now, with a hush of suspense, I intensely listen for the sound of her breathing, and I sigh with satisfaction when I am assured that my Edythe, my enigma of life, is alive.