Thirty Days Of Julia: Day Three

She wore a man's check shirt and made the most
lissome lumberjack I could imagine.
The hems of her jeans were scuffed ragged by
sweeping the pavement, despite the stacked heels
of her funky clogs. Red and yellow stars
peeped from beneath indigo flares. Her style
was charity shop chic, which embarrassed
everyone but her. She sparked: one hundred
pounds of gunpowder and five feet nothing
of sheer fireworks. But I was not content
to light the touchpaper, retire and ooh!
and aah! For what exploded then fizzled
and fell to earth. And sometimes, love was best
expressed by safely damping down embers.