ANTIGONUS: . . . thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another -
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd and so becoming . . .
The Winter's Tale, III iii

for Veronica Brady

A whisper: sssshh

A secure pleasant solitude shaped itself around her. In the sweet warm air drifted lilting voices, occasional noise from outside, a banging door, a parrot-screech, a car passing slowly, crunching on the gravel. Nothing to disturb the composed inwardness of her own world of reading.

Soft curtains coming down, a whiteness, a peace.