Four Seasons
Bert had said spring was best experienced in the park. When the flowers were in full bloom and the leaves of the trees had returned, birds peering through to whistle some happy tune. Mary had taken his hand and said- is that so? He was adamant that it was. Their surroundings melted away and they were stood in a park of another kind, although Bert had never seen anything like it. A lake filled with fish of white, red, and gold; a bridge painted in red; and stone steps that made its way across the lake, bordered by trees that he had never seen the likes of- shapes he hadn't known existed. An array of colours, not just green. And in the distance, a path lined with cherry blossoms; it reminded him of home. Bert supposed he had been hasty in his judgement- Japan was also beautiful in spring, but the park in London would always be the best. Why? Because that is where he met Mary.
In the summer, he had sat under the shade of an oak tree, peering across at the woman beside him. Mary liked to pretend she didn't notice the way he stared. He was happy to spend his time there, even as families had made their way to Brighton or Devon. She wasn't quite so satisfied, wishing for him to enjoy some time by the sea. And with a twitch of her lips, they were sitting at the seafront, white sand stretching as far as he could see. They swam in the teal depths of the ocean, the sound of their voices the only noise on the island. Surrounded by jagged rocks and palm trees. He wasn't sure where they were, but Mary had said she had brought him to Anse Source D'Argent. He was still unsure- she had merely laughed and said to enjoy the moment; not many got the chance to see this island.
By the time autumn arrived, Bert hoped for another adventure, though he felt it was rather cheeky to ask. Sighing heavily, he said that he wished he could be elsewhere, glancing over his shoulder at Mary. She raised a brow and matched his sigh with her own. Saying if she must, she must. And he had taken her hand, thanking her profusely, letting go when they were sat upon a bench. Somewhere along a cobbled street. Mary said if they travelled down the canal, past the Rozenhoedkaai, they would see the city in all of its glory- the trees along the bank an array of orange, red, and yellow. It was the first time Bert had ever seen Bruges.
And for his Christmas present, Mary promised they would spend two days in Zakopane. The snow had settled, a thick blanket across the ground, and amid the sheet of white was the twinkling of lights. With a huff of surprise, he was pulled down the hill by Mary, who had taken his hand. Half running, she laughed at his astonishment, his cheeks flushing in response. They rode in a sleigh, went sledding with huskies, and went ice-skating- where he had tried to impress her and landed sorely onto his rear end. They had taken a thermal bath before sitting by the window, looking out as it snowed. Sitting under the blanket together as they sipped their hot chocolates.
"Wha' a year it's been," he grinned. "First Japan, then the Seychelles, Belgium, Poland... I've never known anythin' like it."
"What was your favourite moment?" she asked.
"Bein' with you."