She sits on her little cane chair reading.

Her little legs aren’t long enough and her feet swing back and forth, back and forth.  Apart from her feet, she is still.  Engrossed and fascinated by her book.

It is minutes before she reaches to turn the page.  And she does it slowly, carefully, delicately.

I can hear her breathing.  In and out.  In and out.  Soft breath’s.

Breath’s full of significance.

Signs of life.

As necessary as mine.

As necessary for my life as my own breath.

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