I have this picture in my head of Nora on a little bike in front of her parent’s home back when they lived on Tripp Avenue. I used to walk to visit friends who lived across Main Street and frequently passed by the Joyce home. We’d yell hello and I would keep walking. I rewind to that moment and in a second fast forward and here I am taking photos and there’s a ring on Nora’s finger. Mike is arranging cheese and sausage on a platter, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon is chilling in a styrofoam cooler. Nora and Mike have a casual, comfortable way of interacting with each other and the sound of their champagne glasses clinking sounds foreign amidst the fallen leaves and tall trees. We take a walk and there’s laughter and dancing and quiet moments too. I pray they look back with a smile on this simple afternoon when they’re old and wrinkly after weathering this blustery life together, arm in arm.