Reflection.

The Bride writes to me and sends me a photo, "A touch of blue simply adds to the sparkle."

One photograph and eight words have brought her here with me.

I see her in her garden, snipping blossoms.
I see her picking buttercups and bringing me a fistful.

I see her tending to her home, adding beauty to the beautiful.
I see her decorating her doll-less doll house, the joy in the arranging.

We are miles and miles apart. I feel her presence. I wonder if she is spending the morning on a horse, I wonder what she is cooking for dinner. I imagine her riding, gently trotting on shady trails. She will pick mint from the huge patch by the barn. There will be mint tea, and later, cocktails with her husband.

Her wedding make-up brush and sparkle dust are in this picture. The hand mirror celebrated the end of a first year at college. The dressing table, a Christmas present.

Reflected in the mirror, a wicker basket. The basket I bought for her when she was three to help contain her menagerie of stuffed wild life. When I purchased the basket, and told the sales woman my plan, she replied to me this was such a nice basket, surely it would go to college with my daughter for her laundry, it did.

Ten years later, it is still doing it's job, and I can tell, from this photograph: She is collected. The basket is empty, the silver gleams, the mirrors sparkle and there is a bouquet. Eight words, and one photograph, a gift to me.