Her face and hands are crinkled tissue,
webbed with lines.
Her shoulders are thin and small,
and when my arms encircle them,
I am reminded of my girls when they were younger.
She has been on my heart for months,
yet in typical 21st century fashion,
"busyness" snatched my best intentions.
Over Saturday coffee, I make up my mind to visit her.
I bring her zinnias,
stand on a precarious kitchen chair to change her lightbulb,
read to her from Psalms.
We talk of old photographs and love stories.
prays for a Holy Ghost revival.
She testifies of a long obedience, a persistent following.
Can one be shamed by her neglect and refreshed in her spirit all at once?
It was my favorite Saturday in a long time.