the fitful sound of her shoes on the pavement on a really cold morning — it couldn't possibly get worse than it is today. the sun is turning but dawn is reluctant and heavy-eyed. crickets on a branch are singing to a nocturne. how can something be so sad, yet leave room for a bite of buttered toast with tea for breakfast and a laugh at noon? mixing swirls of watery light blues, pinks and peach-yellows to a dark blue sky, and feeling like you've lost something — could it possibly get worse than this? the pebbles look indigo under this light; the trees are sympathetic and breezy. under her feet, the dust; little twirl of air changing direction at her wrist; the suddenly glorious morning sky and, the quiet universe are conspiring to lift her up into the endless nothings, caress the corals and purples, and — any moment now — catapult her into the magnificently surreal magic that she is destined for. she is carrying her heavy heart a little further — couldn't get worse than this, could it? as if a deep breath, the trees stretch to the light, the dust shifts, a twinkle in the new sun — here comes.