I pause to blink, just to check which continent I’m on. The beach huts would indicate England, that at least must be a certainty, but really, who’d have thought you’d find such a jewel on these shores? She’s rare example of womanly beauty, voluptuous and on display for all the world to see. Strangely, the world doesn’t appear to be looking. I look. I’m probably staring. How could anyone miss her swathed in azure gauze, glittering in the feeble sunlight. I’d probably have missed her myself as I so rarely have the opportunity to look past my own sunburnt peeling nose. Her skin glistens and ripples in a shade of slick nut butter. I’m tempted to ask but I lack the gall, “could you sit completely still for another 20 minutes whilst I sketch you please?” From this angle she is flawless, although I’d go for natural grey rather than dyed jet black. Not for the first time, I wonder why women of my mother’s age are so rarely appreciated?
12 hours ago
4 comments:
I'm not certain... I have found that over the last while my parents have become old. Then again I don't ever remember them being young.
Yet, I know others of the same age bracket that I'd swear were 20yrs their junior.
Why's that???
S.
Hey, Maddy. Howzitgoin', eh?
(Add that to your mid-atlantic lexicon...)
;-)
The problem seems to be that we tend to overlook the appreciation of the wonderful things right in front of us until they have reached the status of a collectible antique. Very rarely do appreciate what they have because we're always looking for more.
Least ways that's my own humble opinion.
There must be something fundamentally wrong with us if we can't see that beauty.
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