She - A Vignette

Sometimes, a simple snapshot says the most

The woman is wearing a sundress—white with small purple flowers. The straps are a tasteful width of about an inch; the soft cotton contrasts her healthy bronze skin. Her light brown hair shines in silhouette against the sun. She stands in cool wild grass up to her knees, looking across the field, an orange lily held loosely at her chest. The look on her face is wistful; the flower brushes her chin gently. We see her, but she would not see us, even if we were there. She is looking inward: perhaps she is looking forward, to a time when a man will bend his knee and give her a ring; or maybe back to a time when she put away the toys of a child. She is woman, she is girl.

As we catch her here in her long thoughts, let us join her gaze. Let us look across this field to the gentle hills ahead under the softly setting sun. What dreams may come as we stare through its oblate scrim into ourselves? What pasts spin out behind us? What flower would we hold to our heart from this lonesome field? Do we feel the warm embers of ago, or do we shiver in the dewy oncoming evening of the unknown to come?

Her dress sways in the breeze; the skin of her shoulders cools with the oncoming twilight. Her hair sighs back from her cheeks, and she closes her eyes, tilts her calm face to the sky, drinking in the gloaming. She smiles a little smile, bittersweet: a private smile.

Let us leaver her, then, leave her as she smiles, leave her in her dreaming peace. There are other fields and other sunsets, and we all have miles to dream before we sleep.

(Word Count: 297)