Afternoon Nap

The winter light comes pale and hesitant through the blinds, the quilt my grandmother made is smooth across the bed under the window, and I am holding this warm, solid little bundle of strength and determination and beauty and happiness as she wrestles around in my arms, smelling her soft, thick brown hair when she rests her head on my cheek, singing snatches of an old song I learned from tiny, old Mrs. L--swinging her feet in her wheelchair, with a twinkle in her eye--and the old chair in the corner creak-creak-creaks and we are rocking, rocking, rocking, and it is good.