The Woman with Prune Hands

Upon watching the visages in the room, I look towards a woman. She wears a simple dress, her hair is gray with age. She seems to be reading some magazine about nothing, carefully pulling the pages. Her hands look like prunes. An elderly woman, her skin is like leather but a bit too loose for her frail skeleton. Frail seemingly, but what wars has she seen? I could learn something from her. Silently, I observe this woman sitting across from me in this room. I want to ask her name. Instead, I sit, silent. Silence prevailed that day when I had a chance to meet this woman who might have had something to tell me, something to teach me. I sat, silent.