She arrived by means unknown — small mystery of life — but if I had to say I’d hazard whirlwind, and from the East no less, across state lines and probably at night, but certainly with red hair — red, red hair that reached right back to home. The whirl of the wind made unlikely things almost possible and not quite fleeting: half-circles and near misses, rushed words never spoken, partial pirouettes, flings that never flung, brief lives pulled up short — a sun stuck hanging low and flaming on the long horizon of today.