An elegantly wrinkled index finger reaches out to lightly press a lot doorbell button, glowing a faint beige type of yellow. The old woman returns her hand to its home in a dark brown muff. A few moments pass, feeling longer than they are, before a stout head of short, sandy, salt-and-pepper curls answers the door. Smile lines and crows’ feet stretch across both women’s faces as they cackle their joyous hellos.

“Are you heading out?”

“Yes, finished packing not too long ago. The car’s warmed up. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“We’ll see each other sooner than you think!”

“Yes, but I just won’t be…around as often…to help out as much, but I’ve left you a nice present.” Thick dark eyelashes wink playfully before the eyes under them turn, suddenly, melancholic. “Just don’t miss me too much at the church…and-“

One stops the other; a wide smile fades soft, knowing.

“Don’t you worry. You’ve done more than enough. You enjoy that fancy community…I’ll call and visit you soon.”

The two embrace, then pull apart. The woman in the house grasps the hand of the other as they pull away, not wanting to let go of her dear friend, whose hands are stained with purple ink.

— — —

Sandy salt-and-pepper curls, laden with delicate snowflakes, bristle through one of the heavy wooden double doors of the church. As she looks around the holy room, baskets of canned and dried goods line the pews, standing at the ready to feed hungry families in need. Each sits warm, happy, filled with love and holding a light blue card. Pristine cursive perfectly centered, written in purple ink.