She Is No Age

People who are twenty, eighty, fifty, and fourteen adore her rich dark red hair and her kind blue eyes. She mirrors the mock orange blossoms in her yard, alongside tulips and roses and petunias. Much to be discussed about what prompts their growth. She whispers that it's difficult to kneel now, but she manages. Around the house she gradually evolves to what is possible. She thinks about the child next door and how he learns and how he glows with change as he is reading. She listens to an ostinato of his breathing as she learns his thoughts and finds in them her own. 

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