She catches a chill and undergoes a shaking spell.
Then, she is overcome by an awful heat and feels each pore producing perspiration.
But, she refuses to yield to the wind’s howling blasts. Wet hair whipping her cheeks as she walks under the gray sky.
“I am inexorable.”
And, she is glad to have a little, physical battle to fight. Anything to distract her from thinking of her subliminal war.
And, though it is Friday night and she strides down Main Street, she passes no one.
She recalls how it stayed cloudy all day. The light did not change.
She studies her left hand, as she thinks she could be dreaming. But, it appears innocuously mundane.
“Daydreamers are still sleepwalkers,” she realizes, giggling.
Then, she feels too silly for her age and too aged for her years.
Unnaturally timeless. And, still, the moment passes but her face remains essentially the same.