he was made of glass and from it everyone extruded symbolism. They treated her as if she were brittle and maybe even eager to be broken but she was stronger than most of the people she knew. Some people assumed she had no personality because, clearly, one could see right through her; others didn’t believe she could be trusted for the same reason and, likewise, most thought she was incapable of having any secrets of her own.

Sometimes, for fun, she would put her hand between you and the sun, making a bright spot move erractically over the newspaper you were trying to read.

She was elegant brilliance, a crystal beauty poured into her clothes. She was twice as brilliant when she shed those clothes and dove into her swimming pool, protected from bashfulness by her own smooth refractions. Under the cool summer sun, disappearing beneath the surface, she becomes a cypher of water and woman.

I have never seen anything more beautiful.