Eleanor

Eleanor At The Bar

Wide eyes drew me in. Eyes the colour of sea glass and molten gold set down by a painter’s touch. I coveted her story, listened within silence.

I studied her eyes, eyes that appeared to see beyond the realm of ordinary, sensed her bewilderment. A glance as if asking: why is it that  others can’t see how light casts shadow, how waves kiss the shore, how a smile deceives?

Lips, slightly pursed, held tangled secrets, if only she dared speak. Her side swept hair, a mix of caramel and honey, suggested an elegant yet strong ancestral line. Scandinavian vigour lingered like a shield to cover fine bones.

Eleanor. Salvaged from a Vancouver vintage shop. This is her given name, penciled to the back of a plywood board. Painted in oil, she remains bespoke for all time.

I brought her home.

“I am intrigued by the smile upon your face, and the sadness within your eyes”
Jeremy Aldana

A Beautiful Moment

 

He turned the dial on the radio. Another voice took over, silenced the demon. This voice scorched through his skin from surface to core. Notes rose, touched the ceiling and dropped to the floor. The alto voice admonished and enchanted as the lyrics hugged father and daughter. Nina Simone, “The High Priestess of Soul” punched the tiny room with passion and spirit, nestled herself into every corner, tucked her soul into each cupboard and drawer.