My Selene

At a distance, you would not think of her as miraculous with most of her body draped a drab, olive green. As you neared her, you might notice, if you cared to notice, the bright splashes of lemon yellow gracing the very top of her head and the tips of her shoulders, as if the very contrast beckoned you to take a closer look.

Certainly, if you were lucky enough to chance upon her as she awakened from her afternoon nap, stretching her body before you, there would be no doubt of her unique beauty. A stunning column of color, peeking from her back in a vivid, turquoise blue, would reveal itself, drawing you even nearer to her.

Only then would you see the glorious blanket of green, clothing her chest, a vision more striking than the young blades of grass in spring. Your eyes would follow that lush carpet down her full length where you could delight in yet another outburst of sunlight, as if she were adorned with a pair of matching golden anklets.

Closer still, you would stare, transfixed upon this living jewel. With the wonder of a child's eyes, you would linger, devouring every detail of her. Elaborate, ornate, you would savor the fine weave, her tapestry of color, the intricate, interlocking threads symmetrically displayed, lovingly joined together.

And, if you dared, with the curiosity of a toddler's touch, you would caress her delicate fabric, the soft sensation capturing the fascination of your fingertips. Spellbound, you would be.

Then, spontaneously, inexplicably, you would lift it, as if an individual strand of hair, almost weightless in your hand, and marvel at one, just one, of her multitude of treasures, and this, a single feather.