― Flora Thompson
My neighbor Grace has come for a visit.
In the summer we sat in the garden
and never tired of the blue sky.
Now, we are cozy in the kitchen, baking a cinnamon streusel cake.
There is time to place ingredients in small bowls. There is time for Grace to pour them carefully into the mixing bowl. We take each step slowly, There is no hurry. Today, my time is hers.
I felt joy teaching small hands to do these tasks.
That time passed so fast.
I breath deeply and exhale.
Shouldn't we treasure the slow moments at the far end of life?
They go so fast.