Wasps allergies

So summer ends in some weeks. My grandmother died in September. I was as old then as my youngest daughter is today. She stayed with us for some weeks. She had her typical bag filled with sweets. Dutch delight. She was warm and round and soft. Just like a grand mother is suppose to be. She couldn't walk so good, she was over weight. Her skin was like a peach. No wrinkles. She was terribly afraid of bugs and wasps. My mother is deadly allergic for those tiny insects. The girls' grandmother, my mother, is still very quick, regardless of her age. No sweets but sweet herself. She admires the stars in the dark sky with her grand daughters. She lays down on the beach with them and swims in the river. While I observe her motions, she's still the same, she didn't change that much. Since she was my mother when I was as old as my daughters. In just a few more weeks we celebrate Belle's tenth birthday.
She came out on the terrace yesterday. She looked up to the stars. Warm and dark Moroccan nights. Ramadan follows the moon calendar. We slowly adjust to these cultural  rhythms and rituals in our host country. We've changed during the years we lived in different countries. We like to understand better their way of admiring. The stars are as magnificent as always. The moon rises.