Return to: Behind Closed DoorsBright Shiny Days Like This You see me turn in front of the long mirror, adjust my skirt, frown at the reflection, and sigh. Knowing I never take compliments for honest truth, you offer anyway. You tell me I am beautiful. Before I can stop my brain from reaching my mouth, it spills: I am fifty-six and not getting younger, I retort. I want to take it back, say thank you, tell you I think you are beautiful too. Always. You come to hold my chin firmly in your hand and inspect my upturned face for wordless clues. You are the woman I am in love with. Always. I feel that. I do know that. I see it in your eyes. I am not afraid of wrinkles, or softness in places that have forgotten to spring back when pressed. Those things mean nothing in the whole reflection. The real worry is that I am desperately in love. I am in love with wind when it caresses tall grass, with dance of sunlight through orange and green leaves, with sparkle of water over smooth stones and moss; I am in love with Life, and all the little wrinkles it gifts me. I am in love with the echo of me in a granddaughter’s smile, with the welcome awake hug of my son on new mornings, with the rise and fall of your chest while you are sleeping; I am in love with Life, and all the soft places it gifts me. I count days; save them like bright shiny pennies in a jar. I want to invest my time wisely, and see interest accumulate in the form of days like this, when I catch your glance in a mirror, and see my reflection slide back to beautiful in your eyes. Shirley Alexander © 2009
