“There is a time, not day, not night, defined by black trees silhouetted against grey sky, a brief moment when all colors dissolve into spectrums of shadow; a time when darkness and light can no longer be distinguished, and all sounds merge into one peaceful, almost mocking silence. From within this silence, her eyes opened, her eyelids like jay wings tucked back after flight.

Though the black hands above the grey background of the bedside clock showed four-fifteen a.m., that time, those numbers, were only an abstraction, a human creation attempting to bring order to something that already has order; an absolute, though mysterious order that existed long before
the mechanization of time.

Her body rose like a branch bending in the wind. She crossed the bedroom, pulled back the white lace curtain, silver in the moonlight, and gazed out over the rooftops of London, watching the smoke ascend from brick chimneys then fade into the black sky like ghosts.”