“She was a battered woman now, not a lovely girl; but she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one’s breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things. She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last. All the strong things of her heart came out in her body, that had been so tireless in
serving generous emotions.”
My Antonia, by Willa Cather.
That is how I want to be described in the latter years of my life.
I'm reading that book right now!
How pretty! I think I need to read that book.