She walked down the street as though she was not there, not in that town. She was off in some other far place. Perhaps a place where birds sing hidden deep in dark green bushes, where there are soft, swift rustles through undergrowth while a warm breeze trails its fingertips through the leaves.
Perhaps she could have been on some distant shore. Seabirds circling above her head as the sea whispered its secrets to the sand.
Outside the Post Office, she stood turning, looking up, her gaze beyond the shops the buildings, the street no longer there.
She was back on that beach, watching as the gulls came home from the sea.
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