This woman waiting by the phone

(photo taken from myvintagevogue.com via http://www.flickr.com/photos/vintagevogue/)

This woman seated before you is an optimist. She believes that though she has been waiting for her husband for 2 hours at the train station, any moment he will pop around the corner, scoop her up into his arms, kiss her on the lips right there in the central train station where everyone can see. She does not give heed to the cramp in her calves from sitting just so for so long. She takes turns alternating her legs so that neither falls asleep as she waits. She sits next to the phone should the train master call and tell her that there has been a mixup and her husband's train is on another track, and might she be so good as to come to the information booth where he will direct her to the proper waiting area?

This woman talked herself into and out of buying flowers for her man several dozen times this morning before finally, painfully, coming to the conclusion that purple was not too feminine and that he would be touched by her gesture and love her all the more.

This woman chose her look with great care. She had her dress ironed and starched in anticipation of this very moment. well, not this very moment, obviously. But for the moment that would soon be unfolding on this very spot. Her gloves are pressed and lightly scented with honeysuckle water. Her earrings, a gift from her aunt in Paris. Her hat, white and newly purchased from the shop seemed to her a small fortune but worth the scrimping she would have to do in order to afford such a luxury.

This woman shoves down her worry and the desire to pace. It is unbecoming in a lady. Instead she stays lightly perched on her seat, face forward, eyes intent. The phone does not ring. His train does not come.
This woman is an optimist, a fighter and a survivor. In 10 minutes she will decide that 4 hours is long enough for today. She will stand up, dust her bottom and smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. She will hold her head high and walk up the lane and hail a cab to drive her up the hill to her home. She will return tomorrow and for as many tomorrows as it takes, until her moment unfolds as it ought to, as she planned. But for now, she sits, she waits. She is an optimistic woman.

Inside the Snow Globe

(photo from http://www.pinterest.com/source/lakemusic.tumblr.com/)

She needs to dance, she must not stop.
She knows the snow is falling, she knows the ice is creeping and yet she twirls and spins.
 She knows she needs to dance.
Hold the bridge for support against the sway, swaying. Point a toe, lift a limb, all in measured time.
 Snowflakes flutter down around her; they, discordant to her elegant rhythm and grace.
 The snow globe that is her home and cage is being violently shaken by a young child.
She needs to dance, she cannot stop.
She flitters across the surface to the other side of the bridge grateful for the magnets in her shoes that keep her from falling upward into the domed roof of her world.
Lift this way, bend that way. On and on she goes.
Her dance is perfect, magic, a dream for all who bother to pause and look.
Her  tiny world fills hearts with longing and love.
And that is why she dances. That is why she cannot stop.