Grandmother once told of Sunday afternoons when she could meet with a gentleman -- a gentlemen who was interested in seeing her on a regular basis. This often took place sometime after church and Sunday dinner.
In my active imagination, I envision the two meeting on the front porch on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Sitting in the swinging chair, the young man told her how pretty she looked in her pretty white dress. He told her how sweet she smelled, and how he wished they could be alone in some place - a place that he would prepare for her someday. He touches her hand and feels the softness of her skin as he runs his fingertips across her delicate knuckles. The moment was so soft and sweet that he becomes drowsy with love. He wishes they could be in that place that he wants for them. They would fall asleep in a passionate embrace just after love has made its escape.
Sweet story and photo
sounds like the beginning of a book :)
And you, Stephen, are a romantic!
My mother said that when they were young, the young man had to ask permission first, and there was no hand-touching. There were letters and roses.
Hello Butterfly! A book huh? *light bulb*
GG, your mother's generation was very romantic. I like that. Nowadays, there is touching everywhere and no one has to wonder before they get married. The cow has been milked. They even have butter and sour cream. *smile*
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