Magnificent Mundane

My love and I,

with hands intertwined,

would walk to and back from the shops.

Nothing of note would happen.

Our feet, theirs and mine, 

would pad against the concrete pathways that

inclined and turned as if drawn to the destination.

We would talk of the mundane, joke about the

state of the country as the trees blessed us with shade

and flowers graced us with their scent.

My love would trip up sometimes, nature crawling up

from the dirt hidden beneath the industrial tar.

They refused to bring their cane, and instead, as if

they thought I knew not what they were doing,

would wrap around my arm.

I would worry, but I enjoyed being closer to them,

closer to the world.

This mundane walk became paramount to me.

They of course would oblige, mentioning needing

noodles or drinks, 

and I would match my shopping list to theirs.

Though my list did not exist.

For it was that walk,

That magnificent, mundane walk,

was my true desire.

Hands intertwined.

Tree shade and flower scent.

Little trip ups and laughs.

It has become what I live for,

and was never mundane to me.