Saturday, 8 September 2012

XXI. Red

Hair like burnt red autumn leaves, chaotic with its ringlet curls. A life of its own, with it's own stories and history reaching in multiple directions. Blazing, frazzled, glorious. And her bluest eyes, bloodshot like she's been up crying all night, but never darting, always focussed. She strides when she walks, stretched proudly to her full height. But she must leave the lightest of footprints in the sand.

I knew I would give my time freely to her once I had met her. That I would help her in the small ways I could with the little suite of tools that I possess. And sometimes just showing up is help enough. It says I believe in you, and what you are trying to achieve. I think she needed that.

She knows what she wants, for a moment. And then it changes. The vision is clear, but the path to its execution difficult for her to choose. She's not fickle, it's just that decision making pains her as she examines almost every option. 

There's a problem with her health, I can see this in her eyes, and in the frailty of her figure. She is stick thin. She has none of the strength and power that I have in my body.  I could push her over with my pinky. But there is strength elsewhere in her. A hidden reservoir. Got her through a maddening episode recently where she felt her physical vulnerability, knew she was overpowered. Faced the black, faced the cruelty of men. But her life went on and the vision continued to be brought to life despite a residual anxiety. 

There are people you will follow willingly, even when they come undone, or their dreams fail, because seeing someone giving everything is worthy enough a cause. For me, she is one. 

No comments:

Post a Comment