The spring of her disappearance was the spring of the great wind. Not a gusty wind but a constant rush, as if all this time the world had been on a train and someone finally opened the windows. The trees filled with kites, like so many girls with gum in their hair. Clouds zoomed across the sky as if late for something.
“Where are the clouds going?” Celia asked.
“To the next part of the sky.”
“Don’t they get bored? What happens when they get to the end?”
“When they get bored, they become rain and come down to visit the dirt and the fish.”
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