Her feet were followed by the short truddled footsteps of her son. Her dress flowing from her toes up- all the way past her clasped hands that guided her starry eyed boy. The look on his face was as genuine as birth- new to life, colors, sounds- face full of expression.
As my eyes continued making their way further up the woman’s dress I saw her neck was draped in a wind-kissed angelic white scarf. Admiring the way it whipped and cut through the gentle breeze reminded me of a pebble dancing its way across a still creek. Passing her neck a black vale covered her mouth and nose leaving only an inch slit, the width of a children’s book, revealing her piercing emerald eyes.
Much like her scarf that laid motionless prior to being donned- she too was only an accessory amidst her surroundings. And much like the stone that skipped and jumped across the soft current- it too would cease when summer drought rolls around.To me her eyes spoke volumes- she was stuck observing life through eyes that would read the same children’s books to her child.
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