I peer over the top of my book. trying not to let her see me watching her.
She sits on the bench everyday with a small bag of seed for the birds.
Her hands are gnarled with age.A trophy of years of labor and caregiving.
It's a chore now to open the bag with fingers that used to be nimble.
Time has deformed them.
I am fascinated by her ability to adjust to the changes in her body.
Afraid that I won't be able to grow old as gracefully as she has.
I admire her tenacity as she shells a peanut for the squirrels.
I see her as beautiful, and hope that I can learn from her the beauty that age can bring.