Patsy by calm179

He picked her, not I. Why? She hung about, did not pretend indifference, nor did she hide from a frank gaze. Her possessions were few and well worn: a tattered copy of Thoreau's Walden Pond, a slender paperback, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, and a palm sized ball of glass that reflected light from her window sill.

Simple, quiet, and peaceful in her ways, except when angered; then she would grow trenchant (truculent?) as a horse, restive in the heat of battle and flurry of argument.

She was plain as a Shaker pine box. Nondescript brown her hair, sturdily chunky in figure, and unremarkable in clothing, she was not someone you would look at twice; yet, like the presence of the box would, she grew on you.

Simple in her movements, modest in her glance, comfortable in her body, and in simple, clear conformity with herself, she was beautiful in her way. Though she took no pains and made no effort to enhance her appearance, she was endowed, by nature, with a single charm having twofold expression.

If eyes are the window to the soul, then her soul was the tempestuous riot of the ocean whirl pool and sink hole; a glowing sea green they were. The luminescent aqua shading the depths of the greater turbulence, the clear celadon of a semi-transparent and priceless Ming Dynasty vase, such a color were her eyes that they went lowered before the admiring gaze of those fortunate enough to have been favored with a glimpse.

And her smile confirmed the impression. Though rare in expression, her smile brought light into a room. Hearts were lifted and delight was manifest. Irresistible in combination, her charms were such that her previous "plainness" is now perceived as unfair advantage. As a precious gem is shown to best advantage on a field of black velvet, so too, she.

Without adornment, artifice, or aid, her spirit shone forth with a clarity and forthright character. She was non-pareil, without equal. Of course, he eventually divorced, having lost his eye for seeing, I presume. It was one of those cases where two eyes were not enough. It required three to appreciate her full impact.

She disappeared into the distance. I saw her once. She said that she was visiting, that her window looked out upon a green field and a little hill where a cow picked up grass by the mouthful, complacent in its grazing; a coyote or two sometimes passed to greet the moon or to hail the passing of a friend.

I wondered if she had added to her possessions, if light still sparkled, gathered by a palm-sized globe placed on a sill, by a hill, with a cow grazing complacently. I wonder will it ever end? She causes me to contemplate immortality.

With her smile and eyes and cow and Thoreau.