Two Women At a Window, Ca.1670

It's another mild day and the sky glows white The air is still and cool as the midday light Admirers giggle, perhaps at a young caller One hunches over, the other stands taller They don't look wealthy, yet they don't look poor Perhaps trusted servants, but what can't they ignore? They've taken jolly notice, as if on a whim Of a miming youth who should be pruning a limb Posted at the window the younger one peers At this croaking lad, flattered by what she hears Hunching near the potato patch across the way He waves in a fluster with a few word words to say He's glances side to side, behind the wall, stepping back Emerging again from a passageway's crack Between the tool shed and the gardener's house He sneaks with the startle and twitch of a mouse She remains calm, though tickled by his manner For he might as well wear a bright purple banner The older woman chuckles in faint squeaks Hidden by the shutter around which she peeks The younger one looks quite near seventeen With floating white sleeves rolled up yet clean Her girlish neckline, cut wide and low, Displays to her suitor how well she can sew Her hair is tucked with a bow on one side Her grin is reserved with her eyes opened wide Could her silly boy still have his pruners in hand? Is he skilled with the saw and tilling the land? Two women at a window, quite content Is this how many of their moments this day are spent?