Remembering the ashen faces of the women walking through the fields in the painting she had seen in the museum, she fingered the tiny charm on her necklace. It was a little silver quill pen, given to her by one of her colleagues at the magazine. Alcie was sitting on a park bench, breathing the summer air, and yet still feeling cold inside. She'd already established that it wasn't anything that blankets or coats would take care of, and besides, she looked awfully strange walking the streets wearing her long black coat and her wool scarf when it was eighty in the city.

Nevertheless, Alcie was having a wonderful time in New York, visiting galleries and shops. She'd gone to a play at a small theatre the other night. A small production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. She'd always loved that play, with the mischievous Puck, and all that enchantment was just cozy. And she's begun frequenting Central Park, that huge place that was so nice to sit and think if you wanted to, or to watch people if you wanted to do that instead. Despite the cold, well, everything was just peachy and she was having a wonderful time.

That sounded like a corny postcard. But she supposed it was true, somewhat. And speaking of postcards… Alcie pulled her sack up to herself, opened it, and pulled out a postcard, a stamp, and a pen. The picture on the front of the postcard was the same as the painting she'd been thinking about just a few seconds ago. Women with ashen faces wearing shawls and long skirts walking through a wheat field. There was something about it that made Alcie search it, and stare at it for quite some time. She was quite pleased when she found a print of it on a postcard in the gift shop. She would send it to Max, because of course he would like it too. Though he'd probably see something different.

Max had always thought her silly it seemed, when she'd do something like pick a twig off of the sidewalk, a perfect and beautiful twig with a fork at the end just…like…so, and put it in her knapsack. Alcie didn't think Max ever understood those things. How a fork in a twig could be perfect, and how the little white dots could be arranged in such a way that would make it beautiful.

Alcie caught a glimmer of something, but it'd looked menacing and so she pushed it away. Not before getting a little glimpse at it, however. It was something about Max, and how something must have been different for him, for him not to see beauty in little things. But that was like a big inky shadow, and Alcie wasn't about to invite it into her head for a visit. There had been too many of them lately, and nothing good ever came of letting them in. Better just to walk.

Alcie stood up and walked toward the street, in the direction of her apartment. She was lucky to have gotten the place that she did; it was quite nice and convenient. The owner of the building, a relatively young widow, took a liking to Alcie and went out of her way, it seemed, to help her.

Alcie remembered the postcard and pen she had taken out of her sack, and looked down at her hand. Yep. Still there. She had meant to write Max a note on the back, and send it off in the next mailbox she passed, but it looked as if she'd gotten sidetracked again. There was a box just a little ways ahead, and she sped up a bit to get to it. Rather a dusty thing, she thought when she leaned up against it. She brushed it off with her hand, then wiped it on her jeans. Then, flipping the postcard over so that the sad ladies got to look at the blue (and now shiny) metal of the mailbox, she wrote.

Hey,
I saw this postcard in the giftshop at one of the art museums I went to. I thought it was nice. Anyway, I'm having a great time wandering about here, and I'm planning to go to Greenwich Village tomorrow. I hope you're doing alright, because I sense something sad about you. Cheer up, things will get better. Call Andrea or Adrian over there; they'll offer you some soup and someone to talk to. Anyway, don't let the sky fall on you.
Alcie

With that taken care of, she peeled the stamp from its paper and stuck it to the postcard, then sent it sailing into the mailbox with all of the other mail, little paper pieces of conversation between friends and family. Alcie pulled the blue door open and looked inside. Such a friendly place in there, she thought, and smiled. With that, she continued on her way to her apartment.

The air was crisp, unseasonably so, on her way there. Alcie liked to just watch the people as they walked by. There was a man in a business suit who had the saddest eyes. He was holding to the side of his jacket and running it through his fingers. Alcie felt sympathy toward him. Yes, you just need to sleep, don't you, she thought. Get some rest.

She finally reached the door to her building. It really was a nice place, better than the one she had back home. Right down to the wrought-iron leaves on the front door, and the plaster moulding on the banister inside. It had an old feel to it, one that Alcie liked. She walked upstairs and put her key into the hole on her apartment door, walked in, threw her sack on the chair and went into her bedroom to get ready for wandering the cafes again at night. Max would enjoy it, if he were there.

more later