In the shadow of Lucerne's Chateau Gütsch, I was spellbound by the lady in the emerald hat.
It wasn't one thing about her, it was everything that begged question.
Cocksure posture. Fiery statement handbag. Head-turning cutout wedge platforms.
And that cigar...cigarello? The way her hand articulated her thoughts. The long ash impassively disregarded. Sophistication or security blanket? Addiction or pacifier?
The wrinkled trench, her hurried cinch, and a peek of emerald hem she never intended to show.
Wouldn't she just die if she knew?
And her hapless companion--a lover? Another habit? Her husband?
Contemplating a walk through Mühlenplatz (Mills Square), the old site of Lucerne markets, she would never have known I was looking at her and not Spreuerbrücke, the ancient Mill Bridge just beyond her.
Wanting to know her story, making up one instead.
I never saw her face.
What a pity.