Arrived to the presence at a point in time it seems, but has lost the grasp if it quick enough. Or the concept of time ceased to wet her appetite for just for the sake of it. It was when, she moved on to STUFF. Those of substance and peripheral negligence of the wondrous; the caliber of fluff on bees knees. She tried to capture this and other irrefutable truths of life in the process of transmutation; and periodically got so entangled that knows not anymore if it is her capturing STUFF, or the raw enamel of wonders spits her out on white pages flesh and soul, entrails and turmeric-like spices. Nor does it matter neither. For rapt with letting go of that cumbersome pondering that is a means to an end, fluff on bees knees she finally became and that remains. Fairy dust sprinkled on this bus stop.