She wore nothing but lipstick
upon her sun-kissed face.
Graceful gray wisps of hair
wandered from her long loose braid
and played around her ears.

Bright speckles filtered through
her straw hat to highlight smile and frown lines,
permanently imprinted freckles
from summers of childhood play.
Seventy years had been planned for her,
maybe more, hopefully more.

She held her husband’s hand
and reflected upon their romance
that continues and grows.
His contagious laughter,
quick wit and engrossing stories.

Her bad cooking, creative moods
and outspoken nature.
Movies together and reading the same books.
Memories to replay in her mind’s eye.
And delirious laughter in the moment.

She feels rough and smooth textures
on seashells he brings to her.
She hears the delightful voices of their grandchildren.
Her sons tell her that her hair is turning gray.

All those years of painting and living
inside of rich colors are gone now.
Seeing and feeling the brushes slosh
in water and make layers upon layers of pigment.
Decorating their home and wearing painterly hues.

She hopes he is purchasing colorful clothes to drape around her body.
She thinks he is because he knows her so well.

She sits on the sand and feels the breeze,
hears the mighty ocean.
His skin against hers is comforting. She digs her fingers in the cool sand
and enjoys the senses that remain in this life.
Her only tube of color is lipstick now
and she applies it with a steady hand.

She is happy because seeing isn’t everything,but believing is.