She had been silently dreaming,

Dreaming all along,

Of Wings, of Sky,

Of the miraculous.

She had never suspected,

Though she gave an occasional and sidelong glance,

Half-seeing what she saw,

That meek and quiet were protective seals,

A wax rind to conceal the power

To break her world apart

And set it alight

With just the might of thinking.

The dirt under her fingernails,

The coarse weave of her cloth,

Did not prepare her.

Wildflower crowns and dextrous hands

Did not hint.

Breaking clods of earth and singing were no foreshadowing

Of her will,

Nor of how easily reality could break,

With just a few words exchanged with a stranger

Who was not.