My grandparents had a set of salt shakers like this on their TV in the living room. They would rearrange the figures and joke that Grandpa must have really messed up, because Grandma was not even willing to look at him. In truth, the salt shakers were about as angry as I ever saw them get with each other. I would scoot the figures closer and closer until they were kissing once again.
Yesterday I was sitting in my mud room shooting birds at the feeders when I saw romance in the air. Buntings flying back and forth in pairs. Brilliant blue males escorting their chocolate brown mates through the air on an invisible dance floor. Occasionally another male would try to cut in, only to be rebuffed in a mid-air tumble, with the lucky fellow returning to his mate without missing a step.
As the evening light started to slip away the dance suddenly stopped and I spied a pair getting close on a branch just off the porch.
“Quick, look away! Can’t get caught looking at him.”
“Maybe I should play hard-to-get.”
“Ooo, she’s cute. Think I’ll scoot a little closer.”
“She won’t notice if I get just a little bit closer.”