There is a layer of snow covering the ground, all around burnt trees look frail, afraid, traumatised, lonely. The army of thick charcoal columns stands decrepit and deathly. They are decorated with wrinkles of pale grey ash where flames most deeply penetrated the once smooth bark.

This is a mountainside, sloping rounded and smooth like a hill but of high altitude. She knows this because it is cold; It may be cold; If she were there she would surely be cold. She. Her. Who? Scanning down reveals two page bare feet. Reaching deeper within she draws upon the sun, sucking it in by offering up her vacuum so that the sunlight draws into her, like sucking lemonade through a straw. Carried by streams of trickling light, tiny particles of love like glittering silt float downwards, spinning with the dancing ash, and settle. Like fundamental, nutrient rich bits of earth floating in a river the subtle sparkles are somehow shifted from one place to another to renew life in this barren land.

The dramatic effect of this unfolds. Around each foot snow rapidly thaws revealing the vivid life below, it grows taller, the blades of grass unfurling. Tiny wildflowers in fuchsia, saffron, ivory and lilac wake and stretch from tips of shoots. Then a thought is fleetingly born “If I touch the trees then maybe life will grow there also?” and reaching out she confirms the thought, making it true by viewing ten spindly alabaster fingers stretch toward the trees. Soft palms press against blackened wood. As though she has connected an electric circuit energy flows through her feet, into her hands and into the tree; the grasses grow up and around it, buds blooming and sprouting on newly forming branches in a cacophony of life.

She feels like she is being watched. Turning slowly, the evolving landscape swirling past her, a sentinel tigress stands high on a rocky outcrop silhouetted against the dusky bruised sky. Burnished amber reflecting golden mahogany they gaze soul to soul. The beast sits beside her, she is crouched on the jungle floor. Next to her slight frail body, the queen of the jungle seems a glowing beacon. As fire spreads so the power began to heat every pore and soon the girl was strong enough to stand. Her muscles flex as she raises from the floor and she is a woman now, a warrior. The tiger, pleased, melts into the shadow of the lush forest and is gone.

The woman strolls down the evening splashed valley. Jungle soon thins and blends into meadow. In the meadow is a stream of the crispest water. She peers down into it and sees the reflection of a bear staring back at her. She – the bear – watches the faded indigo shadow of two fish frolicking together under the rippling surface. They curve gently around each other, looking peaceful and free. She longs to join their dance but as soon as she barrels into the water eagerly joining them, they jet off downstream with propellers of fear and over the edge of the waterfall at the horizon. A cloudless night, a velvet sky of distant spotlights, and a bear, alone in a purple meadow, gazes up feeling everything except alone.