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Reflections - cover2

Selected Writings & Artwork by Harriett Copeland Lillard

Reflections pleasures. The reflected image of the sidewalk café across the street with its tiny tables and spindly chairs, its casual, rich disarray of wine glasses, Perrier bottles and stuffed Ferragamo sacks, the relaxed laughter and chatter of its clientele over afternoon refreshments between shopping bouts, only accentuated my inconsequence and raised bitter gall in my throat. Always on the outside looking in, always on the other side of the street. God! What an adolescent feeling! I felt disgusted with myself and my reaction – so superficial and shallow. It seems that by 39 I should have learned something. I remembered what Sondra once said about us, “We always felt like we deserved more than what we got.” What did we deserve? The café scene was superimposed by reflection on the richly costumed mannequins; they were wedded. The triviality of the former destroyed the pleasure I took in the latter. The spell was broken and I turned to go, stunned this time, not by beauty, but by my own mediocrity, my own mortality, the realization that I was not going to be 39 forever, the sudden certain knowledge that life would never be significantly different for me than it was at this moment. ˜ 75 Opposite, Harriett in her renaissance.

76 Renaissance