Thirty-One Years Ago
She's tall and slim, although still filling out, and she's beautiful, in the way of young girls. Not sophisticated. Not worldly. But beautiful.
Her features are still half-formed. Not those of a child, but without the definition of a mature woman. Her face is still a little round. Cheek-bones which will one day be high have yet to fulfil their promise. The freckles on her cheeks may one day vanish, but now they sit scattered over pale skin.
But the eyes….
Sea-green….
Jade-green….
In sun or shadow, their shade changes; depthless emeralds, flecked by spring leaves or grass, rimmed with a dark circle and framed by lashes which oddly, are much darker than her hair.
Once orange-red, her long tresses have matured to a burnished copper-gold with the sun glinting in the
