Thursday, 15 January 2009
At the office, her mind was on the notebooks left open on her desk at home. In front of the wide window there, the dramas of sunlight and shadows of squirrel acrobatics wove across the pages, all of them threads that would somehow weave into the words that would appear soon. The clock marked out the day. And the books waited. And at another desk, a heart was breaking, aching for the weekend.