A blanket of death warms her feet.

Only Grandfather knows the moment: Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Alive but not living, she waits.

Memories float like autumn leaves, twirling on the wind.

Gliding tranquility of twilight.

Calls to a little boy are answered by the touch of man.

Yes, pull the blanket up.

How kind.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Another face, another half-remembered thought.

Another vibrant leaf drained of color.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

The last leaf takes its time; dangles, dodges, dances.

Darkness embraces her in a cascade of peace.

A stitch in time is she, whisked away by astral weavers.

Tick, tock.