She sits quietly at the window, scissors in hand, a basket of fresh cut flowers at her feet. We’ve been married for 65 years tomorrow, would you believe that? And for 65 years, on Wednesday mornings at 7am she wonders into the gardens I planted for her, and collects an arrangement. Without a word she clips and sorts her bounty into a new and elegant display of the season. She calls it her silent meditation. I spend the time sipping my coffee and thinking how beautiful she is.