I feel a bit like a voyeur.

In a space of earth and dust surrounded by a wall of neatly stacked stone with a roof held up by tree pillars, she’s a bright spot of color and pattern.

She is an elderly woman in a meditative pose.

All is silent with the exception of the soft whispering of cotton as it is being spooled in her skillful hands.

Her face is in repose, lips turned slightly up in a secretive smile.

I’ve snuck a peek into the studio of an artist at work. I hear her quiet hum of satisfaction. It’s a joy seeing an artist who clearly loves working even in old age.