Rambling in a plane

Of an age?

Certainly.

But how much?

She was certainly over forty, you don’t earn that easy sexuality either quickly or without some pain, and that will always show in the eyes.

Which were blue.

Like the sea?

The sky?

It was too quick to say, a flash only – but a blue that haunts you afterwards and which recalls something you once saw in a tapestry on a museum wall.

So she is probably over fifty.

Yet when she turned, having found a window seat on the plane, the excitement in her smile made her look like a little girl on Christmas morning.

And I forgot to look at her eyes.