The elder woman walking toward me was alone.  She was swathed in a full-length, vintage style, black fur coat.  The coat’s collar was fur, too, but pure white, and it draped and framed her neck and face dramatically as it cascaded down the front like a first snow.  Her hair was pulled back tightly into a style reminiscent of Kim Novak in “Vertigo.”  Like the collar of the coat, her hair was also white, but it was thinning, with a tinge of yellow-blond still evident throughout it.  Her face was carefully made up.  And on the very crown of her head sat a sparkling tiara.

Perhaps it was because we were just within the entrance of a local grocery store, just about noon, on an ordinary Sunday … or perhaps it was because I had just turned the corner to exit and she appeared so suddenly before me.  But I stopped rather abruptly.  She was just there.  Only a few feet in front of me.  And we looked at each other.  And her eyes seemed guarded, her mouth set, her chin lifted, as if she hesitated, waiting to pass through a moment of uncertainty, perhaps needing courage. 

And, just then, a much younger woman who was passing us both called out to her:  “Oh, you look so beautiful!”  

The young woman said it gently, sincerely.  And so all I needed to add was “Yes.” And the elder woman and I nodded and smiled at each other, and she said, “thank you.”  And I was much more pleased than I had a right to be.

By the time I caught up to the young woman in the parking lot, she and her male companion were loading their bags into their car.  “I’m afraid I took credit for your kindness in there,” I said as I pointed back to the store.  “That woman thanked me for your lovely words.  So I wanted to tell you that she appreciated it … and I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your good heart and generous spirit.  Well done.”

The young woman continued to shift her groceries to her companion and said:  “Well, I just saw her there … you know … living her best life … and I wanted to tell her, to let her know.”  I said again how much she was appreciated for doing so.  And then we waved and went our separate ways.

But her words have stayed with me now for days:  “Oh, you look so beautiful … living her best life … I saw her there … I saw her … ”

This young woman’s reaction had been so spontaneous, so authentic.  She had seen this other human being and valued her vulnerability as well as her strength (“I saw her”) … and she had assigned to her a sweet and lovely interpretation (“living her best life”) … and she had loved her right out loud (“I wanted to let her know”).  And so she had let her know – right then, right there in a random grocery store in the middle of an ordinary Sunday.  Without judgement.  Without forethought. But with acknowledgement and grace. 

Hundreds of years ago, a remarkable man we still remember and quote today as Rumi, expressed this thought:  “If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.”  This young woman was certainly the light that day.  And it still shines in my memory.  I suspect it does as well for an elder woman who was alone in a crowd, wearing furs and a tiara.

I suspect we are all meant to notice each other.  Especially with kind hearts and generous words.  But perhaps we are also meant to take special notice of the noticers.  Those who light up the lives of the ones they see; those who acknowledge openly, who love boldly.  Because I suspect they are not only a light for the ones they notice, they are the light on the path for the rest of us to follow.  I suspect it’s that kind of light that has the power to dispel even the scariest shadows, the reflection of which can make us all “oh, so beautiful.”