Two Women Stood : Part I
words by Kate Skinner
Two women stood at the head of a old well. The first, not yet thirty, the second, nearing ninety. The first had never seen such well, the second, knew nothing but it.
They said nothing, simply looked, waited, pondered — almost prophesying over themselves, seemingly self.
The first came only for water. Awaiting, anticipating, entitled, to the droplets of life to be found within the expanse of the well, sister aquifer below. She was expectant, with assumptions so intent, so deliberate, she neither saw nor heard anything but her ambition.
She was not hopeful. She was not joyful, she was not grateful. She worked the well ceaselessly, sans repose.
With such frenzy and focus did she toil that she failed to notice the second woman standing just beside her.
For the young woman, there was only the well, only the perceived promise of water.
The second though, she knew only the well. Each stone of its wall knew her name, her soul’s song. They called her Eleni, meaning light.
She was feeble, faint, in stature, skill and sophistication. Yet unbreakable was she in spirit, faith, patience. She believed that the droplets would come, but should they not, that the worth was not in water, but in wait, and well.
Eleni knew not the water, neither the promise of it. She was of the stones, known to and by them.
In the noonday they stood, unaware of the approaching Son.
