Rothko and Respite

We walk two by two down the sidewalk. We all read the "Look left- Look right" signs before crossing. It saves us on more than one occasion. It's raining now and my toes are getting wet through my shoes. They say it's cold here, and I say they're right. London acts as the frame to our pictures. Micah and Abby are there in fine form, one hand on top of the others with matching black jackets. Once in a while she'll push him near a puddle but he never leaves her side with the umbrella. He is her shelter from the slow gray drizzle and she is the one that makes him smile.
Across the bridge and over the river is the factory where we look at art. I put my hands behind my back and lean in. BJ cocks his head to the left, and then to the right. My feet are beginning to ache, but at least now they are warm and my socks have a chance to dry out. The Rothko exhibit is dark and quiet, each wall is covered by massive canvases of blocked color. We sit for a second, enjoying the respite and the smooth wooden bench. Across from us a man and a woman mirror what we remember to be the perfect first kiss. He places his hand on her knee. She tosses her hair back and then rests close to his face. He smiles at her and she smiles back. He seems to stop talking in the middle of his sentence as all momentum shifts to each of their noses moving closer to the others. And then it begins, his lips on hers in a sloppy uncomfortable action that forces me to believe that when first kisses work, they must be treasured. Here was the perfect setting, and the delivery fell short. Next time you find yourself on a benign walk to the car, you should take the love of your life with you just to see where it leads.