Weak in the knees

Sunday afternoon, we are alone, deep in the woods, next to the river, far from civilization. He turns to me and gives me a look. My legs go limp. I need something to keep me from crumpling at his feet. From his look, I know he is feeling the same way. As one person, we turn our gaze eastward.

Steve still has that effect on me, but this is not a Valentine's post. We had just spent an arduous afternoon cross-country skiing. I used my ski poles to hold myself up and we were looking at the car parked half a mile across the field.