At the bottom of the yard, I watch her standing against the fence looking out across the farm. I observe as the slightest breeze, nothing more than a gentle zephyr blows against her face. The grey bangs on either side of her forehead lift in recognition.
She brushes them into place and doesn’t notice as I come up behind her and slip my arms around her waist.
Her strong hands clasp mine, and we stand for a moment, nothing to be said as the action says it all.
“Every day is a good day,” she says, “thank you for being you.”