They were strangers, but my spirits lifted to see them. We were walking toward each other on the sunniest possible day, with my spirits less than sunny.

She had glanced at me and then down, as women do, particularly the younger ones. She was the kind of redhead that spoke of an unusual sense of her own complexion, and sound judgment in the hair color aisle. At no point during the glance did she lose a step, in the pace of her stride or the cadence of her conversation.

Her partner did not so much as glance at me; he had his half of the conversation to carry. At the moment we approached, his half was silent; he walked beside her with that hunched-shoulder posture that men use in listening to women at their side. Ear cocked, head stooped toward hers down below his shoulder, arm on that side held behind him, so he could be closer without swinging anything into her.

Every woman on earth sometimes thinks of this pose as a way their racks are checked, rather than a way that words spoken towards one's shoes can be heard. From the expression on his face up above her, I thought that this time they'd be wrong.

It did my soul good to see them moving together; there was a closeness you don't always see. Bodies accustomed to each other, yet without the indifference familiarity can bring. They seemed to hold hands without even touching. As I shifted to the narrow walkway's side to avoid them, I was pleased to make way for young love in progress. It's a rare thing, and one must respect.

I was close to the lady myself as we passed - checking her rack put my ear in ideal position to hear her, and who could resist tuning in on the moment? I really needed the boost, so I listened as she said...

"... but really, my ideal guy would be ..."

I walked on past, swearing the next spirit I tried to lift would be liquid.