Late love

She blushed.  The red flushed from her checks, down her neck and up to her forehead.  You could see tears filling her eyes.   My colleague and I had just followed up on what this intelligent, beautiful woman had earlier told us, that a relationship, which eleven years ago had spluttered to a halt, less than a month ago sparked again - and the pair  instead of wasting more years had let that electricity flow.  She's in love, she's smiling like a girl, blushing like a teenager, talking about life-changing events, and she's sixty.

A few weeks ago, I blogged that middle-aged women had stories to tell, to tell of their loved but aging relatives, their young relatives who've left home, of grandmother duty, of how they balance home and work, if they're still allowed paid work.   What you rarely hear of is this late chance for love. We're privileged to be allowed to share her joy.