By Peggy Waters
I pour myself coffee and join a friend seated at one of the round tables by the beverage bar.
I say to her, “It’s not official yet but my drive just now back from Woodland Hills was breathtaking. The sky was a brilliant blue with a few puffy white clouds floating around. The hills are emerald green with just a blush of yellow mustard starting to bloom. It looks like Spring.”
She looks at me with a big grin. Her blue eyes twinkle. “You’re right! Look over there in the corner. Tell me what you see.”
I follow her bemused gaze. Two residents sit talking, oblivious to all but each other: she, in a club chair; he, on a sofa. They wear casual clothes, name tags attached. Reminds me I’ve forgotten mine.
He waives his arms in an expansive gesture to emphasize a point, smiles at her. They sit legs crossed toward each other. She laughs at his narrative and lowers her head and eyes, then looks up at him as she puts chin in hand as she crooks an elbow on the chair arm. She reaches over with her other hand and touches him lightly on his arm and says something to him. Their two silver-haired heads bend towards each other.
I flash a knowing smile at my friend and say, “Oh, how charming, a new romance! Looks like Spring has arrived early at University Village.” We giggle and sip our coffee.
