Greeey

Amma's greying hair caught the morning light as she arranged flowers at the Srivilliputhur temple. For fifty years, she'd performed this ritual, watching her dark locks slowly silver like dawn breaking across water. Her granddaughter watched, learning the precise way to thread jasmine through the deity's crown. The temple community whispered their appreciation—not for reward, but for witnessing devotion passed forward. Amma smiled, understanding that true richness wasn't measured in accolades but in the quiet moments when tradition found new hands willing to hold it. The flowers would fade. Her greying would deepen. Yet through this gentle passing, something eternal bloomed.