She muttered under her breath, that single aphorism oft repeated in times of great trepidation: “You have to go backwards to go forwards.” Who knows where she heard it. She quite suspected that she had invented the saying, since nobody in her life had ever been able to teach her anything.

Falling meant falling all the way, till you hit bottom. Even after you found yourself in the dirt, in a bloodied heap, with both legs shattered, you had to stew there like that for some time. And after awhile, you had to somehow manage to limp forward, or crawl, or drag yourself along on your belly, until you had accumulated enough grit and wisdom to pull yourself upright and face life.

A single life could be represented in a thousand fragments of stained glass, all mashed together without actually seeming to form a complete picture. But that is how life was, never making much sense, never seeming to follow any pattern. She had learned this to be the truth, and also to accept it. To accept life on life’s terms.