There was something about her. When she sauntered through the market examining each item before placing it in her basket, heads turned as eyes casually watched her delicate movements. Most often, she was unaware of the interest engendered, her mind elsewhere, perhaps on days gone by.
A wisp of a woman with whom an aura of elegance and grace whispered enticingly. Yet, if you caught her eye, you captured a glimpse of mischievous impishness, a twinkle, a spark, immediately doused as if sharing that moment were enough.
I had the feeling that she had fought old age with fervant ferocity and even so, those days had passed by far too quickly and old age had finally captured her manic race against time in it’s inevitable web.
I could easily imagine her – young, vibrant, full of life and energy. With each passing day, pieces had slipped away leaving the woman alone and fragile and yet not.
I couldn’t help myself. I wanted – no – needed to know more. Something told me hers was a story worth hearing and sharing and that knowing her would be the experience of a lifetime.
With that thought in mind, I walked toward her and started a conversation. With time, we became fast friends until I was emboldened to ask about her life.
As days passed, she shared her experiences including moments of triumph and tragedy humour and sadness equally combined. Her stories constantly invited more evoking moments of pure delight and a desire to have lived and shared her life alongside her, willingly partaking of the adventures of which she spoke.