In Central Park

In Central Park yesterday, I could have just walked bench to bench, reading each of the small plates fastened to the backs of the benches, in memory of a loved one, in celebration of another, others honoring and recalling the hours and days spent seated there, watching people and life spill past. 

Instead, we walked all over the park and took in the stark beauty of the leaf-less trees, the revelers, the dog walkers, the sax player, the plastic bucket drummers, the city just outside its borders. Still I couldn't resist "reading a bench or two." And spotted this one, a toast to Ginger and Arthur and "70 miraculous years" of marriage. 

I thought of who they might have been when they first made that promise; how young they likely were to be making such a vow: I will be with you through all of it, everything that life gives. 

I imagined the laughter, the shared aches, the whispers, the dreams and conversations across a kitchen table and 70 years! 

And right next to it was this plaque:

As I walked past I wished them that same happy miracle.