On the outside beside the frozen chill of her quiet demeanor, she shines like the sun at dusk. One last attempt to keep the world warm. I know with each spark she tries to recapture her fullness, in the dawn before, but the night eats her whole. Taking all the living light. At least that is what it normally does, and I know that she believes with all her heart that it has..  with each present moment when it least expected a spark of light comes from her.. there is no sun within her. There is no created light that can shine... and still she persists.