And there she was.
Still as a watercolour painting, but moving in one’s imagination.
She was planted under two gentle yet unmovable trees – bent with age and magnificent under the sun. Their branches overlapping and intersecting to weave a web of gentle shelter.
A temporary home.
After a while of wind-song and the dance of busy footsteps on the nearby pavement, two pigeons came close to her.
They pecked away at the soil and sent silent prayers to the heavens for food. To last another day.
Perhaps they were looking to survive, just like the lot of us. Perhaps, they had a nest and baby mouths to feed.
She did not move a single inch.
She stayed planted under the shade, with her orange sari elegantly draped over her. Her traditional dress rested gently against the grass; almost like a flower petal.
She was One with Mother Earth and seemed like she was gossiping about the wonders of the world through mellow smiles and a soft presence.
Her old eyes looked across the fields with such peace that one might think she saw Stars among us.
For me, I just took a passing glance and thought: maybe that is what Beauty means.