She walks with a stealth like gait, quiet and weightless. The most dedicated walker I’ve ever seen; head down, eyes forward and all business. Her sweet scent is floral and nameless. The only word that comes to mind is Lavender. Her hair, brown and curly, frizzled if unkempt and humid. She appears delicate and fragile, but we all know better. She’s off in her own world as she giggles to herself, laughing at a joke that she only gets. A thin grin appears as she silently eaves drop on some one else’s drama. Her wit and humor, dry as the sands of the hottest desert. How she gently lays her face on her delicate little hand as she naps. Eyes closed, she gently rocks herself with her feet to the music she only can hear. The glimmer in her eye and joy in her voice as she talks about her little brothers and their recent misdeeds. The soft whine in her voice as she proclaims her daily anthem of “I’m tired.” Her stern and icy demeanor changes as we become alone and fall into familiarity, our daily routine of catching up and soul searching. The genuineness in her voice as we bid each other goodnight. ¬