She remembers the twisting creek and the ancient tree in the backyard that stood proud and shaded the house.
She knows the feeling of the big hammock by the lake and the easy feeling that comes with your grandmother's songs.
She was there beside you hanging over the bar in the kitchen as the smell of good good bread wafted through the house while hysterical laughter filled the air.
No one else in the world built as many forts with you from scrappy lawn furniture and baked with mud with you until your mother came announced it was time to eat.
She's the only one who can make you cry by simply putting on paper what you both know.
Only she knows like you do.