The clouds slide by in a dance of blues and whites and grays. There is a moon in the sky and the child asks her mother “why is there a moon? I thought the moon was only out at night?” The mother has no time to explain. She knows. She asks herself why, a different why but a why as strong as her child’s why. They will not own her, they will not own her, she repeats incessantly until the murmur in her mind fades away. By then her child is gone while the moon still shines above dancing with clouds in blue and white and gray.