She has whittled it.

And refined it.

She has pared it down over the years.

Until it is something fine and indefinable.

The young don’t have it.

With their restless and boundless energy.

Always fidgeting and stuttering.

She makes reaching for a glass of water and act of grace.

She glides from her chair into the kitchen.

She washes the dishes with smooth and precise movements.

A conservation of energy that only the old have perfected.

Making everything seem effortless.