Rush Hour Goddess

     If I had it to do all over again, I would've pulled over. Granted, if these are the kinds of regrets I'll have in my later years, I'll count myself lucky but it could've been a wonderful memory too. It happened while I was driving home from work yesterday.  I'd had a typical mundane day at the "day job" and I was really looking foward to getting home. In this downtown neighborhood the flow of traffic was moving fairly well. So, I was cruising right along when I saw her outside my window. A woman was playing with a child on the lawn of a run down apartment complex.

 ---You know, there's nothing like the late afternoon sun. The light just bathes the world with a sheer blanket of yellow-gold, obscures flaws, and gives everything an ethereal glow.---

     Well, that sunlight bounced like sparks off of her long, thick hair creating a crackling halo around her head and shoulders. I wondered in that brief instant if she knew how beautiful she was? I questioned if I should pull over, roll my window down, and tell her that I was so transfixed with her loveliness that I felt compelled to stop and say so. I hadn't, though, and now it was too late. I could turn the block and drive back by but that seemed contrived and just a tad bit creepy. I wasn't altogether sure that my heartfelt compliment wouldn't be taken as such anyway. Or... it could've made her day and changed the way she saw herself even for a moment.
    
     She struck me as a woman who hadn't heard enough kind words in her life. From my quick glance, she physically had the kind of build Ruben immortalized on canvas; the kind sonnets were written about-- The kind that goes unappreciated by current aesthetic ideals. Her figure was amply round and soft. She was barefoot and bare-armed; her complexion was rosen and creamy in the forgiveness of the late light. That glowing mane was an average chestnut brown that hung wavy and ended in a straight line at her waist. It was parted in the middle, frizzed, and all the same length in a carefree way that reminded me of someone I once knew that hadn't changed their hair in 20 years as a way of holding onto her past. In the context of her surroundings, it gave the impression that an elaborate hairstyle was a luxury she didn't have time or energy to worry about. It suited her, though. It gave her a timeless feel as though she'd just come down from Olympus on a sunbeam.

     So there she was... just casually tossing a ball back and forth. I couldn't really see her face clearly but I imagine now that she must've had a laughing expression befitting her frolic and I hope she really was happy. If she was real, and not a deity posing as a commoner, I hope she felt peace in that time in the grass. No matter what was going on in her world, she was setting it down to play with her little one-- Which is an act that only ever adds to the beauty of a person.

     If I would have stopped and confessed my admiration, would her eyes have sparkled with knowing because she'd lured me there? Would they have lit up to clarity from a dulled fatigue? I wonder what color they were? I wonder if that child saw her exactly the same way I did as a Goddess incarnate? I wonder if she knows that's her true state of being? We could ask the same about ourselves.