I'm not the kind of person ordinarily who observes others minutely. Unlike my husband who is capable of citing details that quite escape me.  Usually my attention is turned elsewhere.  As, for example, when I'm in a supermarket and am concentrating on the quality of the fresh fruits and vegetables arrayed on the shelving before me, intent on selecting what we require to take us through a week of meals.

Occasionally my attention is taken by the sight of a sweet-looking infant seated in a shopping cart, hands busy with a toy, eyes wide with wonder at the colourful sights abounding.  Or that of a young woman dressed in rather spectacular garb, making it difficult to be unaware of her presence.  One young woman, on Friday during my shopping expedition was wearing a floor-length black cotton dress, looking elegant and coolly serene. 

Women dressed in full culture-specific dress still take the attention of others, but increasingly less so, as their numbers become more plentiful and those sights far less exotic-seeming.

My attention was taken, however - although not to the extent that I completely abandoned my primary reason for being there - at the sight of two young black women in their 30s, I would estimate, casually clad in summer shorts and top, and speaking quietly together over the merits, it seemed, of various food choices on the shelves of prepared food products.

I glimpsed a bare head on one of the women, revealing an exquisitely-shaped skull, enhancing the beauty of the face below.  I thought little of it, other than that these were two beautiful young women, casual, confident, going about their business as I should mine.

I came across them again on other aisles, on two separate occasions and each time marvelled at their youth and freshness and loveliness.  It was only hours later, peculiarly, that it occurred to me - thinking about their luminous presence - that the young woman whose presence sparkled even without the usual complement of hair on her head, might have undergone chemotherapy.  It seemed impossible to believe; she looked so healthy and appealing.

I had thought, what if I turned to them and casually complimented the young woman on her stunning looks sans hair?  Might it have seemed intrusive, offensive, insultingly ingratiating?  Utterly unnecessary; or might it perhaps have been interpreted as an admiring gesture, as it was meant to be, an affirmative comment on life and youth and attractiveness?