Someone was waving across the city reflecting pool. It was an old friend surrounded on three sides by grandchildren. Did he ever think he would be married to a grandmother? No matter, they were in that state of what used to be called connubial blis which no one ever promised so long beyond the honeymoon. It was a peanut-butter-and-jelly picnic between going to church and taking a boat ride, filling a summer's day until the rest of the family came to town.
They are not unique in today's driven world, these human islands of affection; only unsung.