People Watching

From where I sat on the park bench under the old oak tree, she was stunning. Taller than I am and half the size she stood with her legs crossed one over the other in a perfect sense of balance and poise. She smiled and laughed, comfortably talking with the strangers around her. Nothing artificial about her looks, she was an advertisement for natural beauty. Hair pulled back in a rough pony tail, little make-up, an old beige corduroy fitted jacket over jeans. Nothing external could claim ownership of the elegance and grace she exuded. She asked a question with genuine interest and listened with intent at the reply. When she called to her husband, pulling him away from the group he was talking with, he came over and shared a laugh at something only they understood. He touched her arm before walking away.

I wonder, when she closes her eyes at night, what do her demons say?