Portrait of an Unknown

Layers of paint construct a welcoming field of wild flowers.
Hazy pinks, yellows and purples romance the scene, springtime.
Much to the side, there is a dusky layer of shade, provided by a supportive willow tree. It is proud, as it prevails over the long, windblown grass.
Not a cloud in the sky, it is an effortless setting created and existing for his subject.

You can tell he must have loved her, not as a sister or friend, but more.
It was not her body language that suggested, but the way he painted her, so adoringly. Wearing a basic white dress she sits on the ground, legs curled beneath her, supported by an outstretched arm, the other resting serenely upon a book in her lap.
The title of the book could not be seen; although it gave her a sense of independence, wit and desire for things she could not experience without stories.

With the incandescent glow of an angel, her skin appears soft and fair.
Layers of reddish, gold hair frame her kind face, tilted ever so slightly. 
Her expression is that of pure wonder as she stares outward into what, for her, is the unknown. Her prettiness did not beg to be noticed, but detained most just the same.

Many artists have painted more magnificent women, mysterious and voluptuous.
Yet, something about her ease and splendor seems more engaging. 
Her features, though simple and plain, are marked with such bewitching beauty, enriched with innocence.

Sharing the crystal blue shade of the sea, her eyes stare through each passerby; the depths of her gaze thus inspiring passion and emotion.
Imagine the endearments that would sing from her rosy lips, the sweet of her voice.
Dream of a blooming smile, as you nudge her chin upward toward your longing.
Dare not compare her to your favorite ballet or romance novel.

Of course there is no way to prove true, it is easy to assume that there was more than meets the eye to this young woman. This was a woman the painter saw for what she was, complex, shy, or intense at times, perhaps even a bit stubborn;
but a dreamer, and it was everything beneath her physical brilliance that he respected.
And she continues to gaze, perchance unknowing he was the only one who truly prized her for her quality.

The only man who would ever understand her.
Her life beyond this is merely circumstantial.
He loved her. Whether or not she knew, or returned his love was not important.
A selfless act, he wishes merely to share with the world the way he sees her in his own mind. In this, he produces more than just a woman held captive in time.
He has captured her soul, the very essence of her, made immortal by art.
Fall in love with her picture;
take her with you when you go.