A wisp of hair like spun silk
fell across the forehead
of her wrinkled-chamous face.
Smile lines predominated.
Sapphine-blue eyes magnified
as she nudged sliding gold-rimmed glasses
to the bridge of her nose.
Unlike others
she did not brush me aside
but listened attentively to childish tales
while we feasted on warm biscuits
dripping butter and homemade strawberry jam.
In turn
unlike others
I was enthralled by her stories of the past
while we shelled peas
and delighted in the raw sweetness
of those too small to cook.

My two year old grand-daughter
pats my grey-streaked hair
as I nudged sliding gold-rimmed glasses
to the bridge of my nose
while we look at dog-eared photos
dating back fifty years.