Portrait of a Lady

She is tinier than you can imagine, but she is perfectly dressed, not a single feather out of place. In the morning, she flits along the flower beds out front, visiting each bloom. She tickles the feet of the Dancing Girls in their fuchsia plant nearby and I hear pink giggles on the breeze.

I am holding the cat in my lap; it is our morning front porch time. And he is rapt with wonderment: what manner of tiny creature is this? Is it a bird? Or no, too tiny for bird: some kind of bee? I know! A green angel, size extra-small.

And then she hangs upon the air like a fairy, not even a foot away from my face, chattering away, her wings flittering a million miles a minute.  She is telling me stories of magical places she's been, in a language I cannot understand.

I will be the first to admit I did not enjoy the hottest parts of summer, but I find myself clinging to it now. Because I know that when summer ends, she will go away too. I can't bear the thought of it. My special little visitor, my morning friend, my Lady Greensleeves. All I wish for is time; more sweet time . . .

The soundtrack: REO Speedwagon, Sweet Time.