She

I remember how she rubbed her knuckles. How she slid a dense silver ring over a begrudging, and tired joint. How she turned the ring around on her finger, absently, when she was thinking.

When she was watching.

I remember driving in the car,

Out at all of the beautiful trees, the sky, the flowers, the park benches

The abandoned buildings.

It made no difference.

Sometimes to see a spectacle.

The obvious.

Mawmaw, how beautiful is that, just look.

But she was already looking.

Perhaps not at the monument, the house, the garden, the sunset that you chose for her to attend to.

Perhaps a swirling plastic bag, caught in the breeze, skittering down the sidewalk.

Perhaps a young couple in the car beside you.

Perhaps an overgrown curb, the weeds vying for opportunity, cascading down along the pavement, yearning to be noticed.

And she did.

I owe my attention to beauty to you.

No matter where you were.

An overflowing adventure.

Life.

Always worth living.