The woman and the girl. They both have climbed barefoot in the magnolia tree of which they are standing beneath, yet eighty years between the birth
of their souls.
The woman and the girl. They stand at opposite ends of life's spectrum, the girl is a blank canvas just beginning her path, and the woman has been gifted broad perspective from her travels much further down the road.
The woman and the girl. They are old friends, the two of them, and the woman tells the girl the story of the Edenton teapot that sits in her backyard marking the first place where women gathered together politically in our great nation.
The woman and the girl. They live just two blocks apart and both still happily roam the neighborhood, though the girl moves quickly and the woman has learned to take her time, she knows the beauty is in the journey.
The woman and the girl. They adore flowers, copious amounts of them, and the woman, a master gardener, has the loveliest of gardens that beckons little hands without scolding and the girl, she picks the few daffodils that her youngest brother hasn't found in her own meager yard.
The woman and the girl. They greet me with hugs and smiles and always have time for a chat and a spot of tea, though I'm reminded I don't make my whole self available nearly enough.
The woman and the girl. They adore children, the woman is a daughter, sister, mother and grandmother many times over, living alongside her daughter and the girl is a daughter, sister to three brothers and living alongside her mother.
The woman and the girl. They remind me that I fall somewhere in between this grand life, the woman pushing the girl in the hammock she knotted sixty years ago.
The woman and the girl. They illustrate that life's distance is traveled in the blink of an eye, so I better embrace the minutiae of today and be thankful for its' messy imperfect joy.
The woman and the girl. They both have encountered loss and strife, but their very souls offer a glimpse of what it means to love life.
Be like the woman and the girl.