a woman's moment.

There she stood.  Quiet on the mountainside.  The widespread beauty stunned, and for a moment, there was nothing but the fleeting rustle of sound.  Cold, she pulled her sweater close and breathed the rich air of pine and smoke.  The ridgeline swept high and tapered one after another.  Deep majesty made clear the small place she took in this life.  Her insignificance threatened to overcome and she wondered at her place in this so great a world.

Children shouted back and forth, until the weight of barreling bodies, thrown full force against her, almost brought her to the ground.

"Mama!  I find you."small hands cupped her cheeks and tiny nose rubbed eskimos.  Little boy arms clung to her leg.  They stood, small lives braced against the world.  Sometimes, her lack felt bigger than her riches.  Sometimes, all she should have done, swallowed all that she did.

There is no one writing sonnets to the woman at the stove, nourishing those she loves.  No music plays while she scrapes the crusted food from the well worn floor.  There is no applause when she carried a hurting child and kissed the blood stained wound.  Stories did not give part to the woman who valiantly stood through life, faithful in the mundane.

The sun set and his arm came to wrap around her.  As always happened, the puzzle fit back into place, and she was safe, held, home.  The colors spread in glorious brilliance and the family faded in the dark.  The night whispered close and though no one was there to see, no pen to recant, all beauty glittered in that night.