There is an old lady I know. She is magnificent in her slow parade, with her white crown and a smile that leaves marks in her face. She is older than I ever imagine myself being. She is beautiful.
When I see her, I imagine the young woman she once was. I imagine her falling in love, having children, keeping track of time in the mirror.
She has thin fingers that struggle to write her own name, yet she plants flowers every day.
She is what is leftover from a life of giving. She gave it all: birth, food, nurture, love, until she was left a shadow of herself.
There is an old lady we all know. She is magnificent. She has given it all.
Would you stop your hurried pace, slow down to look at her, to take care of her, to love her?
Would we recognize ourselves in her gaze?
Would she still be here once we realize how much we love her and need her?