Some exceedingly illusive and vital significance of life had insidiously come to Carley.
One afternoon, with the sky full of white and black rolling clouds and a cold wind sweeping through the cedars, she halted to rest and escape the chilling gale for a while.

In a sunny place, under the lee of a gravel bank, she sought refuge.

It was warm here because of the reflected sunlight and the absence of wind.

The sand at the bottom of the bank held a heat that felt good to her cold hands.

All about her and over her swept the keen wind, rustling the sage, seeping the sand, swishing the cedars, but she was out of it, protected and insulated.