by Heidi Williamson
(for Lorna and Peter)
You recognise her stance first: upright and calm,
behind a weathered wooden table. Her hand rests
lightly on a book. Her head is dipped; her eyes
draw the full midday light of the picture window.
Behind her is a large silk hanging. So much detail
in the fall of silk. You admire this depiction
of resilience, intellect, modesty, joy, delicacy.
Her dress is simply cut, fine linen, her sole
adornment a filigree silver cross. Nestled
at her elbow, a smooth white china bowl holds
hazelnuts for longevity. On the sill: how strange,
a bird is peeking in. A song thrush? And what
a sturdy handkerchief on the chair! An ample gift
for taking in the troubles of friends? Look
intently in her pupils: a figure’s mirrored there.
A tradesman, lean, neatly dressed, smiling
with a husband’s tender glance. But that bird.
It nags at you. Symbols here are deep and caring.
It must mean a love of nature or, closer,
kindness to all creatures. There’s friendship here,
clear in the living lines of the artist’s gift. It makes
you want to stand beside this woman. You know
she’d take your hand and press it warmly. Lean in
to read the lilting script along the lintel: And all manner
of things shall be well. It’s time to leave her side now.
Her story has been told, and rests inside you as you go.
