It's cold, the bed is warm, and neither one of them really want to leave, but they know they must. Their daily ritual awaits. It's the kind of cold that will cut them both to the core. The kind that requires layers, a hat, gloves. The kind that will make her arthritic bones ache, leaving her struggling to move for at least the rest of the day. She is old. It's a simple fact, and they both know their remaining time together is shorter than either of them would prefer. It's not something that is talked about, but she can see it in the eyes that gaze upon her, tearing up on occasion. The eyes that show more concern than she's comfortable with when she sleeps too much or eats too little. It's been a rough month, with her health scare, and both of them stuck in the midst of the winter doldrums. Things have been stressful away from home, but in the apartment all is calm, quiet, but not peaceful. But this weekend has seen the sun return, and with it both of their moods have improved. She knows what must be done as they embark on their morning walk. She is old, and it is cold, but she runs. She runs like she did when they first met, when they were both much younger. She runs with glee, head high, and she turns back to see the wide grin she knew would be there, to hear the "atta girl!" and laughter she expected. When they get back to the apartment there will be breakfast and hydration, they will snuggle close to each other on the couch. She will be handed aspirin, and her aching legs will be massaged. They will sit together, warm, in quiet contentment. After they run.