She fell from her bike, two days in a row. Big heavy falls, the second of which cracked her bike helmet and left her floating under a clear blue sky for several minutes.
Each time she fell, she had been somewhere entirely different in her head and not at all focused on the space around her. Today, she had been thinking about Andrew Wyeth and his egg tempera paint scratched onto canvases with the most amazing spaces of light between strokes. Inside of her imagination, she was following the raw lines with her eyes and rubbing the crisp texture with her mind.
Now, staring up at the sky, she was thinking maybe it was time to walk for a while.