The elder sat still, modestly covered,

in the entrance to the small hut.

Her face held a faint smile,

her eyes lost in transition.

A permanent reminder of a mind deceiving her.


The much younger woman cradled

the older woman’s arm in a tender embrace.

Smooth skin rubbing oil,

along the wrinkled impressions of age.

The faint scent of sandalwood filled the air.

A quiet hum of the waking morning,

in rising crescendo.


Everyday, the ritual was the same.

Quiet, each lost in their own moments.


Yet, today, the eve of the elder’s last year,

the ancestors gathered in the folds of her fading memories.

A portal to the revered.


The elder woman began to sing,

quietly with intention.


Earth and sky.

Rivers and valleys.

Moonbeams and sunshine.

Gods and Goddesses.

Life and death.


Legends of creation flowed from her.

Centuries of wisdom shared.


The student listened attentively,

knowing it is now her turn.

To hold the past and the future.

These moments of grace,

in sacred balance.



Daily word prompt legend

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