Laying upon the bed of grass she begins to read for a while as still as stone . Only after reading a lovely line does she sigh then smile back at me as the wind turns the page.
She is young in age yet ancient in heart.
She knows only in the books she reads and the fantasies she conceives can she not be touched by time.
Her smile is radiant and yet so sad I cannot help but look away, unsure of what to say.
What can you say to someone young in years but wise in pain?
Looking back I can still see her reading upon the bed of grass, as still as stone, allowing the wind to turn the page.
How I yearn to be young and lost in the pages of a book, oblivious to reality lurking up behind like lions ready to pounce.