Her hands

Her hands are beautifully wrinkly. The ring is twinkling magically on her finger as she’s pointing at the quiche through the glass. Like a rare antique, a gold framed ornamented piece of art suddenly coming to life, going to a cafe to buy quiche. There’s something fragile about her, but nevertheless substantial. The calm energy combined with a deeper awakeness. Something from another dimension. She is a representation of a life, a long life, a full life, a life of both joys and sorrows, good days and bad, all stored in this skin, with depth and experiences. She is the encapsulation of time and memories. The impressions that has been simmering inside her soul through times and by simply living a life through all its waves and moments. A human of the rarest form. The tree above us casts twinkling shadows on the tables. Like time is visibly moving through space as we sit here, under the autumn sun, the blue sky, sipping coffee and eating quiche from a round little plate.