On [our lakeside] Date Night.

The calendar still says August, but the chilly air whispers that Fall is near as we sit at that picnic table on the north side of the lake. The one that's off the path and out of the way of the wind.

We unwrap the one meal a week that wasn't prepared at home. This week it's spicy Hawaiian chicken; last week we feasted on Thai red curry.

I rest my foot on your leg, my head on your shoulder, and sip on my $1 McDonald's Diet Coke. We watch a couple from Canada set up their fishing equipment on the other side of the lake.

It's quiet, save for the birds. A thirst-quenching quiet, now that our days have gone from zero to 75.

For the first time in months our daytime hours are now spent mostly apart, so obviously I miss you. Jobs can be demanding, but thanks heavens date night is still sacred.

For a brief time, date night looked like fancy restaurants and exhilarating activities. Someday, date night might look like putting babies to bed and folding laundry together; stealing kisses while we match socks.

But today, date night looks like take-out by the lake. We soak up nature and each other's presence as we breath out the day and breath in one other.