Tuesday, August 05, 2014
Chicken soup for the soul.
Black charcoal and white hot ash.
I watch as she toils over the well-worn stove.
Her movements restricted.
Her hearing impaired.
Her speech lacking in life.
As a proud woman who devotes her life to keeping the house in order.
She will clean.
For as long as she lives.
Her stubborness translates into a perfect bowl of chicken soup.
She feeds my soul.