Laundry mat

She looks tired, but peaceful.  There is a meditative grace in the folding of the soft, well-worn undies.  She gazes into the night, her shoulders stooped with years, her long braid white but full.  The lines radiating from her eyes grant them a softness, the small smile her default setting.  One pair after another until there is a neat, rainbow stack of silky squares.  Resting her worn hands lightly on the pile, she pauses.  A breath, then another and she bends slowly to start on the socks.

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