The Shadow of the Valley

This is not really happening. This cannot really be happening. It’s the kind of thing you hear about but that never really crosses the boundary from being gossip into being reality.

I should do something.
I should shout or scream or cry or shake someone into action.
I should hold my mother’s hand or tell her it’s okay.

But it is so far suspended from my awareness of today that all I can think of is the little blue bowl of soft plums on the table and wonder where Jesper Hoffmeyer used the term “index”.