“Modern art?” asked Cal. “Nope,” Nia replied. “A metaphor.” “For… ?” Calliope pressed. “For what happened in the last 10 hours… Typist went bed last night on sheets as white and blank as snow.” Thalia’s fingers mimicked falling flakes. “I thought we were going to show up here this morning like a freshly caught bluegill laying on a weathered dock board waiting for release.” Urania sighed.
Thanks, as always, for your thoughtful offerings. The strategies from the hostage negotiator were well explained. Sounded so simple, but resisting old ways of dominance and listening only passively can quickly come into play. Practice, practice. I’ve read of glasses that actually correct color blindness. Wish I’d had them today! No more guessing at color names… 😁