and now, about the other one

Sunday the eighth of January, 2006

The creases alternated between shadowing her face with the whispers of memories previous - Things that were even memories in the time before we met - and revealing another face to be included in all the other faces her face had to reveal. She had lived a long time. She had lived a lot in the time she had begun to count. She had more living accumulated in her features than one life could reveal, and she was revealed as wondrous and never-ending as time itself; she occupied the present in such intensity that it was matched and kept constant only in her abdication of any contemporary ties, that balanced the immediacy of her presence with an absoluteness that bespoke her longevity and her connection to the things I recognised as having meaning.
She was a human, breathing scales of eternity as far as it could find scope in the experience of a homosapiens of no broadcasted reknown.
How do we come to know these ones when we come across them? I neither know this or many other questions, similar and disparate.
About the treatment of time on her face, from careful, undisturbed glances on her skin as her mind is occupied with conversation, arithmetic, joke sharing, arranging food, preparing the properties of comfort for another person, the refining process that it has enacted is peerless. She is both here and wholly, not-enough for the present.
I don't think that the world is enough for her. She is certainly meet for the world. She has accompanied it in faith, long enough, and will continue to do so in the future that is not a guarantee.