Not shifting, like she had grown used to. The beautiful, sad woman was sitting in a clearing, breathing distractedly, looking around, wondering where she was, wondering what the dream had become. The air was clear, crisp, delightful. A perfect day, a few light clouds drifted in a peaceful sky. A small pond flowed under the touch of the breeze nearby, the sun reflecting off the water in that way of scintillating ripples of light stretched at the long angle on water, the sparkles thinning out gradually, flickering here and there as her eye followed the water closer to her. Thousands of wildflowers in every shade freckled the field, flowing patches in the breeze. She remembered being a child, she had left her stuffed animal, lost it somewhere. She was worried about it, sad because she had no mother to hold her. She wanted a mother. The woman put her head on her knees, arms wrapped around and began to cry softly. She rocked herself from side to side, humming sadly and tunelessly. Nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, she absorbed herself in the reverie.
