Pins held in the corner of her mouth, head bent in concentration, as she pins the paper pattern to the material.
Her hands moving quickly as piles of laundry fresh from the line are folded into neat small stacks.
Her breath on my neck as she stands behind me instructing as I stir the pot, hot on the stove.
The feel of her cotton housecoat on my cheek as she hugs me close.
The smell of her dusting powder tickling my nose as she helps me tie my shoes.
The flap of her nightgown peeking beneath her coat as she walks me to the bus stop.
The blue of her eyes speckled with brown.
Her hand wrinkled and soft as she holds mine.
I miss you.
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