Portrait in Sepia Tint

How perfectly quaint, my dear, how
very quaint this tableau in which we
feature, you and I together, arm in arm
toddling down a suburban street. It is
the street on which we live, there is our
house and there the homes of our very
good neighbours. And there are we, 
carefully garbed against the arrival of
winter's first snowfall, booted, gloved 
and securely jacketed against winter's
icy blasts which follow us down the 
street, across a main street, up another
neighbourhood street, leaning together
against the unfriendly thrust of an urgent
wind on this nature-soured day of icy
cold and darkly overcast sky. We walk
arm in arm as the elderly do: I repeat
how very quaint that we two who have
always stood out among our peers in
years, robust and independent agents
of our well-being, now guiding and
leaning one on the other, neither leading
both perambulating as we have in the
past seen the elderly in their slow and
laboured passage perform the function
of moving their laboured footsteps from
point A to B. Ours is but temporary, a
setback in routine soon to be corrected
for though we are indeed elderly we are
absolutely and utterly without intention
to be hobbled by those years that bind
us to our shared mortality, you and I.
Observe, as we progress, how quaint.