The old man noticed the woman immediately on enter to coffee shop. Unmade in makeup or cover, earth-toned in dress; brown leggings, and plaited, thick weave sweater and scarf of pattern-match—child to chest—she had a natural beauty unadorned, like autumn day when leaves are gone but there remains a beauty in the plainness, a loveliness that affects the spirit, is known more than is seen and, if asked, one could not explain though they feel it in their heart.
Maybe it was maternal glow—new mother’s charm as creator, guardian, and nurturer of life in state of a spirit-love expressed and manifest in embody of the miracle and beauty.
What it was, he could not say, but he could see as could every other in the shop right then.
He left them to their privacy but noticed still as one does when present, attuned, and witness to intimacies and beauty of one’s living present-now.
She sat alone by window seat looking out onto autumn world—brown and drab, but beautiful, as she in rest and view.
Soft coos and noise of her child’s sounds, she smiled looking down. To see her mother’s change, straight-faced gaze to love and joy in attention to the child, set a warming in his heart.
There was hope in the world still—always—to see children cared for and raised in such a love.
He knew it wasn’t his place, that she had not noticed him—and he did not care to be—but something in her countenance seemed heavy, when she looked outward on the autumn. Wanting to, he could not help but say.
In leave for door, she and child still in rest at window view. Feeling his presence, linger and still of his near and stand, she turned to him, sensing reason for his pause.
He spoke with smile, amicable and endearing toward the natural of her charm. “You are a beautiful mother and have a beautiful child. To all in here, it’s easy to see how blessed you are to have each other. I couldn’t help but see how much your daughter is loved.”
He paused, feeling youthful nerves again that never fully leave, awakened after years thought gone, in attention of a beautiful woman. He was too old for such, but still they came.
“I just wanted to say,” he spoke. “Sometimes the clear and obvious aren’t spoken near enough. You are a beautiful woman and have a beautiful child, and it was a joy to see the two of you and the way you are together.”
Weight of spirit and perceived worry in eyes departed from her then. Her eyes and smile became as beautiful as rest in natural, inexplicable, way he felt and knew more than his eyes could see.
“Thank you,” she spoke in gratitude and grace.
He felt the warmth in heart again—spirit-melt of heart at a woman’s smile that comes to man at every age.
From the heart spread warmth to cheeks, begin of blush he knew that she could see.
Hand and finger gesture, he tipped a hat he did not wear, then moved in leave and walk into the autumn day—beautiful in unadorn of a simple, natural way—thinking still on mother and child.