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.