The Woman in White

As I meandered down the asphalt walkway with the sun shining over my face
Turning my nose cherry red and certain to raise the reoccurring pustulating sores
Sores that had found a temporary fertile garden for growth, I came upon her.

Pale and white, she stood alone in the elements
As the wind whipped the leaves without concern for her well-being.
Pure faux linen cascaded over her head and onto her ridged shoulders
Where it draped her body removing all lines from her shape,
And yet she was beautiful.
Unaffected by her surroundings she appeared to stare at a single point on the distant horizon
A point beyond the forest of naked trees that swayed to the point to cracking.
Perhaps her gaze was fixed upon a different time or perhaps on a different reality.
And there she stood without movement, without change, without awareness.

I wanted to approach her, to get a closer look, to see her from all angles.
I wanted to ask what she saw, but that was not possible
For I knew that there would have been no answer
There could not have been a response.

And so, I moved on,
Pulled forward by my woolly century pound gentle four legged giant
Who showed no awareness of the unapproachable women.




The foregoing was motivated by a walk with my golden doodle in Maine, and a statue of Mary in a church yard where I was waiting for a real estate auction to start.