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She is keeping to her routines, walking a narrow path through the loss—not allowing her thoughts to stray. Occasionally, she takes sips of sorrow, afraid the big wave might wash her away.
As if Antonia would forget that Sam is gone unless someone reminds her.
The world is a crazy place. But she doesn’t need to be alerted each time a dragon comes close.
Not that she is doing anything useful to keep the world going. Except to keep herself going. The best thing she can do for the people she loves is to take care of herself.
How does the imagination of the poor age? Perhaps from much practice over the course of a lifetime—always having to imagine a better life—it stays vigorous.
The landscape of grief is not very inviting. Visitors don’t want to linger.
