When things change
That movement in the corner that was her weaving her cocoon of forgetfulness in nondescript white enshrouding her till a shaft of light poked a hole right through and then another and then another. The cocoon fell apart. She gazed in wonder at the surrounding light and the tears began to flow because the light had been the kindness of remembrance the kindness of a stranger the kindness she thought she had long lost. (I recently experienced a week of kindness from various quarters and this is the result)