helen
A windswept chestnut mane falling over a shoulder
And the background blurs and fades behind her face.
She wears black -
But instead of sombre
It merely serves to contrast her brightness -
The deep cherry tones of her hair,
The glow of her skin,
The suggestion of a dimple,
The strength and vitality of her neck.
She seems paused between seconds
As though the watcher is fortunate
To have caught a glimpse of her -
Ever-moving,
Ever-lively,
Joyful.
She smiles as though she's seen the secret joke.
And she is light,
And youth,
And beauty.
© mjc 03 December 2009
