I asked her what she saw in the clouds. I had already said a dragon, a train, Abe Lincoln’s hat, pointing out each of them.
“A rabbit,” she said, pointing. “And… a sword. And…”
She pointed at another cloud, but said nothing.
I turned to look at her.
Her face was twisted in horror. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing. Her mouth was open as if she wanted to scream, but couldn’t.
She sat up and stared at the grass, and though I asked her what was wrong she wouldn’t tell me.
She doesn’t look at clouds anymore.