| 1. | (of light) produced by incandescence. |
| 2. | glowing or white with heat. |
| 3. | intensely bright; brilliant. |
| 4. | brilliant; masterly; extraordinarily lucid: an incandescent masterpiece; incandescent wit. |
| 5. | aglow with ardor, purpose, etc.: the incandescent vitality of youth. |
She is beautiful, and age twenty or so. Her hair is long, thick and heavy. Her eyes sparkle though they are a plain, dark brown. She has a big smile, and full lips. Soft hands, though worked by time with lines and markings across the skin. She is middle-sized, but content with that - no marks mar her stomach yet.
I watch her. She is in front of the mirror, pinning up fake flowers into her hair and fastening feathers with ribbons. She's happy, and it shows on her round face. The Maiden is funny-looking, but not to me. She wears worn out jeans, is barefoot and an old gown with long sleeves and a dirty skirt hem. After adjusting her locks, she turns her head from side to side to admire her handiwork. Lovely! She is such a little girl still.
She stands, and I am afraid she may run away, the flowers falling from her hair. She does not. She simply discards the black, worn mirror and clambers up a nearby tree, bare feet curved slightly over each board nailed to the trunk. I know she cannot see me. She does not know, and won't for years to come - so I tread across the grass, the ground a little cold beneath my bare feet.
Settling against the tree's thick trunk, the Maiden withdraws a small, worn paperback from a sagging pocket in her gown. She settles down to read. As she turns the pages, one of her hands reaches up so that her forefinger may push large, square pink glasses further back up her nose.
I smile a bit. It must be nice to be her. She has responsibilities, yes. But she has freedom to dream, freedom in her mind to reach out towards things she will not have. Or may have yet. She does not know - all she should do is just be young. Plucking the mirror from the ground, I brush a few blades of dewdrop grass from the handle. Dare I?
Once...not too long ago, I ...well. Thought I lost the Maiden within me. Thought that I stabbed and killed a part of me that I was selfishly saving, clinging to, when in Texas, there was nothing left to sacrifice on behalf of the survival of myself and my son. I was afraid to look in the mirror. My eyes got teary. I pushed the glasses up my nose.
There was a time I set the mirror down, forgetting. Not caring what was reflected. I was simply lost. I looked up, my gaze snapping to attention. She was gone.
I panicked, slightly, jaw agape to speak words. Before I uttered a sound, I saw her run around from behind the tree and zip into the house, the screen door banging loudly behind her.
I turned the mirror over in my grasp. Closed my eyes.
And today I looked into the mirror. I saw white hair that won't stay colored, streaking my thinning locks. But my hair is still soft, and healthy. I saw a face worn by time, but it is still round and full of color. I stared into the mirror - and saw a body I am not proud of. One marred by the marks of motherhood, although it is a vessel of life. One I want to get straightened out so that it does not cripple me at a young, so young age.
I saw. I saw my heart mended, after a period of absolute grief, pain and suffering. I owe that largely to my friends this last year. I saw confidence in myself as a mother, lost and gained both abrupt in manner. I see...a Maiden who wears ribbons again. And flowers. And I see....I smile...because I see...a dreamer again. A butterfly, and a gypsy. A princess, no, but a beautiful woman on the inside.
I see the Maiden again. Though wiser, and older. Not polished, nor waning, but incandescent...
