A thousand sun-soaked moments of possibility: perhaps she is atop a teetering stepladder in a bookstore, head turned downward until you call her name. Perhaps she nuzzles her face against that of a dragon, a kitten, a mutual friend who never let on to you that you were, by proxy, in the presence of something magical and wonderful.

Perhaps you, yourself, are her, beneath the gawky limbs and bad weather days and the moments where - in spite of your absolute certainty that you belong elsewhere - it is pretty clear that this family is your family.

Either way, take heart. She has established herself now, into this scene, this story, and life will never be the same.

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