The sky flashes, light unzipping across the dawning summer morning. It is surprising in these parts, a morning storm without rain, and the unseen bolt is a beginning that spreads fingers across earthly skies.
She sits across from this new face at the table, and she is afraid. This is a risk to trust again, to present herself as worthy of being known, to let unroll that piece of her story that told her she was tarnished, inadequate.
She hugs the child close, whispers love and I see you, says what she needed to hear herself as a little knock-kneed girl, and it is unknown and frightening. This speaking what is into what was not.
She puts down the phone and the book and the to-do list, and she sits with the quiet. She feels devastatingly alone and wonders if she will be swallowed right up into the darkness.