Do they have any idea how beautiful they are?

I have never gone in for jewels, but I can imagine there are necessary precautions. Insuring them, having them appraised, springing for a galvanized safe whose combination you must recall. Looking over your shoulder when you dare to wear the necklace to the opera. Feeling the stares of strangers who perhaps have unsavory thoughts. 

Yes it makes sense that God has kept a veil over the incalculable worth of a young woman. Or man for that matter, though they seem less vulnerable sometimes. If I were fully conscious of the treasures I have been given it would leave me paralyzed with fear. As it is the awareness sparkles in fleetingly, like stars against the night.

It was ablaze this week. I was part of the faculty that joined the lithe dancers to provide, shall we say, contrast. They spun numbly across the stage, while we oldsters fumbled somewhat. Portrayed what middle age, or even venerability can do to a body. Only one of us actually needed a walker, but still. Behind the curtain my girls hugged me, being careful not to smear their make up, and squealed quietly over my efforts to join their world. 

Perhaps it is better this way. That they wonder, and doubt. Fuss with their hair ribbons, and blame the striped sweater for bulk. It would be a burden to know precisely how exquisitely precious you are.