Elaine tossed back her long hair, darkly blond, with a strand before her brow
engoldened by the sun. Her hair was fine, not thick, silken, and suited to perfection her long and slender neck, the delicate bridge of her nose, and finely molded clavicles arcs of precious porcelain. Her eyes etched by dark lashes were of the most shell-like blue yet held they clarity and brightness of fine crystal.
        Tossing back her long hair like a scarf carelessly beyond a shoulder without a backward glance or glim Elaine clasped her hands in her lap.
        It was a slender lap, and graceful, the way the folds of her light skirt gathered and fell over her crossed thighs revealing only the toes of her fashionable boots placed together
seemingly without attention to their positioning while in reality situated as precisely as 2  linked hearts on the candy box centered in the store window for Valentine's Day.
She could not maintain her silence in joy and leapt up, took a bold step, another, 1 way, another, laughed again; her pale skirts were like sails set against the darkening trees,
reflecting back to us reverberant light of the meadow's heart.
        She did not need to speak to tell us of her wondrous and consuming love.
        Consuming? Nay, blossoming, burgeoning in constant marvel it displayed the myriad forms of love unmasked.
        Unbidden, yet, there.