Sunlight glistened on the petals, once her skin had been soft like that, now it was mottled with brown, wrinkled, old. Work had roughened her fingers as care had worn grooves in the once pristine brow.
She chuckled to herself remembering summer days, moonlit nights, of long ago. The years had taken their toll on her; she’d paid the annual tithes of age, now her account was all but empty, little remained of strength or beauty. Yet as age took its yearly toll something had been added, a divine sweetness, long brewed it her heart, burst forth in song as a rare and precious vintage. As flesh slowly withered youth returned, eternal within, a song of love ever new growing in potency.
The hands folded in prayer as she walked amidst the flower gardens wondering at their beauty.
“Mother Teresa!” a young voice sounded, face alight with joy. Bending to embrace the running child ancient arms embraced the future.