When I think of her, I think of flowers, large flowers, red, corpulent, but never obscuring her cheeky grin.
She is a poser, among those blossoms, those petals, the colours; and her smile, always her smile.
Nothing shows culture more than how women pose for photographs, and women from eastern Europe do it best, naturally adopting stances that turn an average picture into instant exotic and playful art. There are some from her culture who think of themselves as more northern, but I think the label of eastern European is one that can be worn with pride, and her picture among the wild flowers of a Siberian meadow is one I particularly cherish.
Of course I should like to picture her nude among sunflowers, but also in colourful wrap among the tulips in Holland, colours stretching as far as the mind can travel.
a red tulip
tilted to her lips
the morning dew