The Watch

I sat back in the overly stretched room of white. Just diagonal of me was White Ribbon. She took out wipes and cleaned. I watched her method, studied each stroke of her hand. The wipe smoothed out the mouse, the keyboard, the desk, her laptop, her pen. It was ritualistic, then it came out to play. The melody that shook The Lifesource. It was an orchestrated painting of movements and sonatas. Scales of G Major were forcibly lured into her mind.