َA Woman With a Vase, a short description of a personage

All they had_ if limited, inconsiderable and immaterial_ were to offer freehandedly even to unfamiliar guests, an unbelievable fact beyond the general myth, that we_ all Iranians_ are the most generous, which contradicts our real everyday lives. Although many of them, esp. the older, didn't speak Farsi and we didn’t know Kurdish but very few basic words, we all had the most common language of the world in our eyes and emotions. The warmhearted people of poverty-stricken Javanroud welcomed us, unknown travelers, with honestly open arms and doors. They offered their simple meals, if they had any; provided us with fresh water, if they didn't; and invited us in to use the bathroom if there was nothing to share. They got nothing in retu, but smiles of satisfaction. She was in the second floor of a decaying building and had nothing in hand to hand out, but her smile and something that she said in Kurdish, hugging a vase in her humble balcony; someone else translated "take a picture of my flower". I took and watched in her eyes her unrequited love for the fragile flower in a plastic vase. That might be her mere friend and family member, all her emotional and material property. Af