Karen

Karen is a striking natural woman. At a recent dinner party I noticed these green and silver earrings she was wearing. She told me that she got them at a farmer's market and I could instantly see her: fresh faced, maybe sunlight in her hair, returning a polite "thank you" to the fruit seller who gives her a sample of late summer peaches. At the end of the aisle, she has an artisan baguette in her cotton tote bag and perhaps a half dozen organic lady apples that she'll display on a white plate on her kitchen counter. She'll then pick up a pair of earrings, like these ceramic and silver beaded ones, and hold them between her fingers for a moment before she brushes her hair off one ear and measures their length along her neck in the hand mirror that hangs from the merchant's tent post. She appreciates their simple beauty; the slight luster of the antiqued silver and the color green, the same shades of green that surrounded her and filled her lungs on her last trip to Costa Rica. They are her last purchase at the market, she slips them on her naked lobes and turns the corner to make the rest of the walk home. Karen is a perfect Sunday afternoon.