Marta on the fifth floor

Marta sat down for her portrait the way the queen sits down for tea. Poise, slow gestures, long neck. It was clear that my being allowed to take her picture was a privilege. The artist in me has no objections to this.

Spring called for something colourful she said, pointing out that the frock she was wearing was more than thirty years old. Before I could take her picture Marta showed me photos of her younger self and the three generations of family that she has nurtured these past sixty years or so. I don't know how old Marta is, and it doesn't much matter - for contrary to popular belief, beauty doesn't fade with age. Case in point: Marta on the fifth floor.   

Nagyon szépen köszönöm Marta. It was indeed my privilege.