Water Colour Lady
On the shaded side
of her morning room,
invisible and silent,
I watch at the window.
Noon, softened by the pane,
spotlights
the dazzle white of art paper
held taut by azure glass pins.
An alchemist of sorts,
she mixes colours into shades
in search of the perfect hue
to express a memory
tucked neatly away
like a piece of mending.
A sable brush dips into an old Gerber jar
filled with muddied water.
Deep brown strokes,
the peach tree grows as it once did
in her garden, resplendent,
wreathed in promise.
While the light lasts
she sits patiently creating.
Rapt in delicacies of tone.
A life far apart from mine;
now transparent, waning,
She drifts across the afternoon
into my reverie.
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