A Lily in the Light

by Kristin Fields

One day when she was famous and had done thirty-seven turns on top of an elephant in China like Anna Pavlova, she’d think back to this day and know everything had started with pointe.

They wandered through rows of parked cars toward the train station. Seeing the cars pulling in and out of spots under a sky of moving clouds was like watching a dance of its own—a boring one, but it had its own rhythm. There was rhythm in everything really. It helped her understand what was coming next, a quiet part or a crashing part, like in a symphony.

much. Esme felt like the last dead leaf on a tree, afraid the wind would blow too hard and knock her into a gutter.