Her

Her smile is sort of a half grin. She glances at me as we walk side by side down the street. The glimpse of that grin jerks my heart. The sun is hot but it's setting before us. A bead of sweat falls down from her brow down to her ear. I love that ear. I love her. We walk side by side down a road that neither of us knows where it will end. As the sun goes down, a cold gust from parts unknown chills us to the bone. She shivers but she is strong.

We stop for the night and build a small file beside the road. Old branches from trees long dead keep us warm. We talk of Jesus and Satan, Calvin and Luther, Plato and Socrates, Mises and Marx, and Abbott and Costello. Her mind is large and her imagination brimming. Our love is more than physical. It's spiritual and intellectual. It's respect, it's admiration without condescension, and it's passion. The night passes. She points up at Orion, the big dipper, and a dozen constellations that I couldn't quite make out and then she's out. I zip up her sleeping bag, kiss her forehead, and then curl up in mine. Our day tomorrow will be hard. It always is. She makes it worth it.