She spends her days toiling in the fields. The work of her hands provide the bread for her family. She is consumed with her work. But there are times. Times when her eyes flit up to the mountain. The same mountain that she, herself, recently descended. The mountain on which she helped carry her love. Yet, her time there was done. She had seen her burning bush and needed to return to "real life".
In the cool of the evening she watches her children run happily, to and fro. Sometimes, when she looks in their faces, she sees the face of their daddy. And her eyes look to the mountain again.