Beautiful

Pure directed motion. Purposeful, determined and earnest. I know, I just wrote three things that mean the same thing. Apparently that is a writing faux pas. However, repetition for the sake of emphasis serves this situation well.

I met her briefly at a poker game years ago. We may have exchanged not more than a fistful of words. I busted out early when my all-in on a straight was called by the higher straight. It’s all good. I got to watch. She would study her cards, have a moment of self-consciousness then put on her best poker-face. Classical posture. She’d lean back onto her chair after a bet when she had a hand; spine straight or forearms on the table if she was bluffing. Dark piercing eyes. Alarmingly disarming smile.

I’ve caught glimpses of her maybe three or four times around the building since then. I think I remember her name. Then, two days ago I saw her as I was leaving the sports complex. At the greater distance she was a slight buzz on the horizon. As we converged she momentarily came into focus. Her mocha skin was radiant with effort. Her eyes remained trained on the road ahead. Her festive locks were bridled into a neat functional ponytail. Where was it she was from? Argentina, Columbia, Jackson Heights? I don’t remember. Even at our sub-sub-sub-light speed, the Doppler effect of her approach, pass and departure was stunning.

There are precious few things in life more engaging than a woman concentrating on a task and executing the necessary actions. If I was deaf, I could still sit for hours watching a woman play the violin. I’ve annoyed more than my share of women as I watched, star-struck, as they put on makeup. Don’t even get me started on women and food prep. Awesome, just awesome.

And now finally, laundry.