Her Self Portrait

Her Self Portrait

Written By
D. L. Miller

Candlelight dances in a mirrors reflection. A breeze is taking the flicker here and there, as it provides light to the room in which it sways.

There in the candlelight sits a finely dressed woman and in her hands, she holds a silver brush. Turning towards the mirror, she takes gentle strokes with the silver brush in one hand and long brown hair in the other. Holding her chin up high she admires the shiny curls of her hair against the blue jewels that hang around her neck. She is dressing for an elegant evening as she sat on a purple satin pillow.

She peers into the mirror to find a reflection of a young beautiful woman. Her skin was smooth as petals and her eyes bright like stars. The red in her cheeks and lips made the very rose envious. Her slender figure only added to the already luxurious taffeta gown of which she wore.

Fragrance of a nearby garden perfumes the air carried through an open window next to the bed. It was a cool summer night and sound began to sneak in with the garden’s fragrance. She turns to face the window beside her bed acknowledging the change in the air.

Echoes of laughter from young men in flirtatious conversations fill the night air. Listen, a well-played piano addressing the evening’s ambiance with notes that linger in shadows. Then a young woman’s laughter brings forth a familiar setting of courting by those attracted to her beauty. It was the sound of a gathering under the old Willow Trees below her bedroom window.

In one swift moment, the breeze from the open window blew so strongly that it stole the flickering candlelight. Standing to walk towards the window, she lifts her skirt of taffeta so not to fall into the hem’s capture and trip. She can hear the wooden floor beneath creak with each step.

For a moment, she stands at the window as if looking down upon the gathering. She lets loose her skirt so that it drags the floor and she hesitantly closes the window.

With the window closed, there is no breeze to interrupt the light, there is no breeze for the fragrance of gardens to drift in upon, and there is no sound, only silence. She moves to sit in front of the mirror and lights the candle to watch it no longer dance.

In silence, she sits and looks up to face the mirror only to find that time had passed by without notice. She sees a reflection of a more mature woman that she did not recognize. Only the eyes seemed familiar.

As she picked up the silver brush, she noticed her hands wore the sign of years and her hair had turned grey like the early morning of yesterday. A ring upon her finger sparkled as it caught the candle’s light. She realizes that with the breeze went the intoxication of her memories. A life so long ago again drifted to the past where old love letters and pressed flowers go.

Suddenly a knock at the bedroom door forces her to answer. There behind the door stood a man dressed for an elegant evening. She smiles remembering the life she had is not gone but has been added too with a loving husband and children now grown.

While he waits at the door, she turns and takes the shawl off her bed. She looks over to find the candlelight raised high and straight. When she leans over to blow out the flame, she takes one last look in the mirror. In the reflection, she sees her youthful self behind a mature pair of eyes. It had all been just a memory, just painting of her younger self.

The flicker of candlelight no longer danced about or provided light for she has blown it out leaving the room dark and a mirror without a reflection.

-End-