It’s only when I hear the swish of a robe that I’m aware she’s sitting beside me.
“Ama-la,” I say, and open my eyes. I bow my head, ready to get up.
“No rush.” Her hand on my arm urges me to stay seated. She shifts on the flimsy cushion and closes her eyes. A great stillness descends upon her.
The contentment she embodies, the serenity she radiates—the memory of my grandmother pierces my heart with the arrow of longing. Ama-la.
My unruly mind slips away from me, desperate to escape to the safety of my grandmother, my monastery, my home on the mountaintop, so many moons ago. Focus. With a sharp breath, I draw in my aching mind and swallow my selfish desire to be anywhere else but here right now.
The abbess opens her eyes. A sparkle of deep amber reflects as her deep, yet kind, gaze
