I looked at her, standing there, bathed in light. She’d emerged from the darkness, her arrival not unexpected. But it was the way in which she’d appeared that caught the breath. Sudden, striking, beautiful.
I almost didn’t dare approach her. I didn’t feel worthy enough to stand in her presence. But she drew me forward despite my reservations.
I couldn’t speak. Words seemed too cheap for the moment. So I looked at her.
We’d never met, though I knew her well. Always glimpsed from afar, now she was close enough to touch, though she remained just out of reach. For why should such meager hands touch one who had touched the sky?
So I looked at her. Wide-eyed, a child at Christmas. I took pictures, poor substitutes for the reality, but soon all I would have left of the moment.
There before me was hope and dream made reality, a culmination to an epic journey that ended too soon. One day others may soar as she did, but never with that line, that grace.
Then the moment came when we had to part. Though we’d shared the room with hundreds, still I felt she spoke to me.
And I will. Until I look at her again.