A Worn Path

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I need a Summary of the Worn Path:A Worn Path
by Eudora Welty

It was December—a bright frozen day in the early morning. Far out in
the country there was an old Negro woman with her head tied in a red
rag, coming along a path through the pinewoods. Her name was
Phoenix Jackson. She was very old and small and she walked slowly in
the dark pine shadows, moving a little from side to side in her steps,
with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a
grandfather clock. She carried a thin, small cane made from an
umbrella, and with this she kept tapping the frozen earth in front of her.
This made a grave and persistent noise in the still air that seemed
meditative, like the chirping of a solitary little bird.

She wore a dark striped dress reaching down to her shoe tops, and an
equally long apron of bleached sugar sacks, with a full pocket: all neat
and tidy, but every time she took a step she might have fallen over her
shoelaces, which dragged from her unlaced shoes. She looked straight
ahead. Her eyes were blue with age. Her skin had a pattern all its own
of numberless branching wrinkles and as though a whole little tree
stood in the middle of her forehead, but a golden color ran underneath,
and the two knobs of her cheeks were illumined by a yellow burning
under the dark. Under the red rag her hair came down on her neck in
the frailest of ringlets, still black, and with an odor like copper.

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