Not one for sunshine, she preferred the shade. Understandable. Arizona can be a real ***** if you know what I mean. Even the cactuses are dried stiff and developed sun-callouses. She was tired of drinking sand in her water, sand in her air, lungs grity like dentist tooth paste. She was also blind, never saw the yellow of the sun but knew of the light, its brightness its harsh ways. She was aware of the prickly green cactuses, the rattle snakes with their innards cooking during lunch time. This woman wanted to live with trees now. Desert had been a past time to dream about during her youth, she heard of the bitter dirts and dry airs and miles of flat land broken by large mounds of mountain (that she never saw but trusted existed). Her nephew was a grown *** man, coming over every now and again to keep her some company while her company slowly reduced her hours, told her to lay off working, her bones were getting brittle, would snap, a hip would pop, and really the way she stared without seeing into their eyes was just a little unnerving. She hated her job. Hated her nephew, who even without seeing his face could tell he was a large, sweaty pastey guy who constantly wiped his face with a towel. She wasn't sad or unpleasant, just real, honest with herself and others in ways people couldn't quite appreciate just yet, not yet. Not until one day they realize all isn't peachy and fine, and that everything is insane, and then they realize the insanity is what makes everything worth living for anyway. She could see this. With no sight, she could see and she would smile, then frown because she could feel the curiousity of onlookers trying to figure her out. People weren't for figuring out, they were for watching and moving along as if nothing had ever happend. And in this way, she moved.