Little windows are opening for me. Like a mosaic. It's an incomplete design, this mosaic. But I see it forming one little pane of light at a time. In one pane is a book. I've written it. In one pane are flowers. I'm teaching new ways to appreciate them. In another pane is a collection of hearts I've cupped in a bowl. The bowl is sometimes made of mist-green clay, sometimes made of my hands. Little windows are opening for me. As I lose my fear, as my breath moves out of the shallows, the design is revealing itself. As one pain moves out, another pane brings in more light.