Her head tilts back like a lawn flamingo dipping with the gust of the wind, hair in the breeze, bobbing and weaving through dimensions of space reserved for only for her. Her spirit. Before she reaches the peak of her tilt, she lets out a softly boisterous laugh that warps all dimensions of thought. More than my measle could imamgine. Even the darkest of spaces light up with her promise. The promise of her. I would travel to the ends of the earth if the labor alone meant she could remain this way forever. Forever in this moment. Forever touching the shy heart that could only hope and imagine.