She is the stillness and the motion
of a photograph.
Parasol mimicking the tilt of her smile,
spinning idly in her long fingers,
Her sundress
(yellow of course)
swirls around her knees.

One leg bears her weight
while the other cuddles close:
one kneecap kissing the other.

She's laughing
an open, silent kind of laugh.
The kind that makes you wish
you were there
talking to her,
pushing her windswept hair off her shoulder,
playing with the strap of her dress
secured neatly against her neck.

The sun is behind her
casting a late afternoon glow
onto her parasol
onto her bright smile
her brighter eyes
which gaze somewhere to her left
at something lost
in the tilt of her chin
in the yellow of her dress
in the angle of the sun.

O to be that parasol.