The lady from Gouda.

Mrs. de Vries wears two gold bands on her left-hand ring-finger. One is a thin and small and has formed a groove of its own just behind her nuckle. The other is thicker and larger. It sits loosely on her finger, held in place only by the smaller ring. Her hand tinkles and clicks while she gestures when she talks. Around her eyes are countless lines, fine and long, that scrunch up into thick wrinkles when she smiles. Her whole face wrinkles up when she smiles. The corners of her mouth turn up slightly, she never seems to frown. Her cheeks are covered in soft, transparent skin, the pattern of veins underneath gives it a blue-ish tint. Just like her hands. Sprinkled with brown spots. Her hair has been white for years, except two dark streaks above each ear. She wears it in a twist, pinned to the back of her head, thinning with the years but elegant and beautiful as when it was full and thick and dark.
'We were married 64 years', she tells me. 'He was a good man. We worked hard together. We had a good life. He never complained.'
The golden rings clink as she waves her hand slightly. The lines connect into thick, long wrinkles as she smiles to herself.
'He was a good man.'