Over his shoulder I saw a star fall. It was me.

My father was often impatient during March, waiting for winter to end, the cold to ease, the sun to reappear. March was an unpredictable month, when it was never clear what might happen. Warm days raised hopes until ice and grey skies shut over the town again.

I had walked along that street all my life, but had never been so aware that my back was to my home

I wanted to wear the mantle and the pearls. I wanted to know the man who painted her like that.

It was not a house where secrets could be kept easily.

You're so calm and quiet, you never say. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes.

Yes, well, life is a folly. If you live long enough, nothing is surprising.