Crouching, hands round knees, she turned her face to get the warmth of the sun, and see the white clouds go slowly by, and catch all the songs that the birds sang.

And every now and then she drew a deep breath.

It was true what Dad had said: There was no real heartlessness in nature.

It was warm, beating, breathing.
And if things ate each other, what did it matter?
They had lived and died quickly, helping to make others live.

The sacred swing and circle of it went on forever, full and harmonious under the lighted sky, under the friendly stars.