She goes out in the calming of the day and gathers in all the pieces of herself that fretted away through the brighter hours -
contentment that was carried off by mutterings
dreams she dropped in the garden among weeds and sunburned flowers
smiles that dissolved in humidity
tears that she said were perspiration
the worry-worry-worries that came to nothing in the end
ideas that flared like a reflection of sun in the neighbour's window
random moments of peace
They are quiet, softened, like the precursors of stars.
She takes them back in. And as she closes the door, the night gently darkens.