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He has seen her before;
Passed her on the green of a morning,
she on her way to the market with a
big basket filled with fresh brown eggs.
He had spied her
among the other fresh fail lasses in
the evenings, when the dancing began.
But among so many others,
she was a bright by uninteresting
pebble.
But today...
Her hair was a purer golden
than the hay she was baling, clasping
the bundle in her
honey-colored arms.
He watched her from his equestrian perch.
He couldn't take his eyes from
her shapely calves below her kilted skirt.
She must have felt the searing heat
of his eyes upon her back.
And she turned and met his with hers,
then turned away with a maidenly
blush.
And she was not surprised
when he dismounted and came close
to help her with a too-big bundle.
And in his wordless heat, she felt
all that he wanted her to know.
And she was not alarmed
when his shadow filled the doorway
of the bale-filled barn where she
sat stacking, all alone.
Loose hay, released from its bundle,
can make a soft bed
for lovers.
-Celia Meiners-Wilson 10/15/03