She moves through the world
like well-worn leather,
soft at the edges,
creased in all the right places.
her years sewn into the fabric
of her being,
like the bark of an old oak
that wears its rings with pride.

She is the keeper of wisdom,
with stained recipes
passed down like tales,
written in the language of hands,
seasoned with memories.
and whispered from one heart to another,
nourishing the soul

She knows the secret rhythms of things:
how the sun rises,
how the seasons turn,
how the body bends and stretches
to fit the shape of a life lived fully.
Her laugh is like the call of a bird