There were days they still went to the park and field to play at the goals and white-chalked lines as they had when they were young: soccer ball’s roll, compete of dashes, cuts and body-checks—spirits nearer to fourteen than bodies’ become of forty.
They were a step or two—or three or more—slower than once upon a time they’d been.
Short of breath came sooner. Ache of back and strain of joints told with more pronounce, and, often, they tripped and laughed in fall of own or other in attempt of cut or move with ball.
Against one another, they competed still, but winning wasn’t the point. The point was play—exercising and restoring inner child that keeps a spirit young—and to share again innocence-way of a first and early love; not knowing how or what to say, wanting to be close—to touch—and not knowing how, and so they competed, bodies’ in contact—touch and press—different than awkward of school dance.
Fourteen again—at least in spirit—they still went to field and played; leaving children home as they felt as kids again.
Winded, aching, smiles and mirth—hand in hand or holds to waist—they walked the path from park to home restored in spirit by their play.
Start of the shower, build of heat and steam, they undressed. Hand in hand or hold to waist, they entered into the warmth and steam. Soothe of the heat in sense to body and upon other’s too, hand in hand or hold to waist, they embraced in love of other way learned and shared in time and age.