I watched her in the garden; picking radishes. Singing songs. Her voice was like a bell. Ringing out. Definitely an alto. Could’ve swore she was an alto. She sang old songs. Old pop songs; Carole KIng, Carly Simon, even some Joan Baez. Her wisdom was past her age. She was an old soul. Maybe her second or third life.
Watching from the kitchen window, I was amazed by her beauty. Long brown hair and dark skin. I couldn’t make out her eyes. They were a mystery. She was a mystery. I knocked on the window to wave hello to her and there was no response. The tall woman just kept bending over, pulling radishes, singing.
God I wanted to touch her. Imagined it would feel like magic. But, it was clear that she did not want that. She did not want any interference from her time in the garden. She just kept singing, moved over to the grape vines where she pulled on the white fruit, washed by the morning’s rain, and placed it in her mouth. Singing and laughing with a mouth full of grapes. Her white dress flowed in the wind.
Turning to watch the sky, I noticed a cloud dancing to her voice. It seemed happy. Happy to be with her. I turned again to look at her. She was walking to the heavens. Step by step. Ascending a golden staircase. Maybe this was her time.