One day when you had stopped looking, she gathered together all the benedictions that will you do and decanted them into the wild reservoir off your life.

There were golden orb weavers there, and calypso, orchid and graceful monarchs who lifted their painted wings as though the miracle off they're being weighed Nothing.

The world was singing again and eloquence off omens.

Some of us were listening.

All of us was standing still.

And I thought I saw you there at the cusp off new meaning.

You were unfurling like an atlas moth.

You were spinning like a compass, Rose and I held my hands out to you and said precious one.

Did you ever think we'd get here?

Precious one?

Listen, we are still here.