Withrow Park, second guessing her lack of coat.

Caucasian woman, mid 20s, with long, black hair twirled into a tail that hangs over her shoulder, wearing a long sleeved tee and faded jeans with rip in the knee. She huddles close to the end of the bench, drawing her bag close to her, shifting uncomfortably and the sun hides behind the clouds once more.

Fugitive Pieces, Anne Michaels (Emblem/McClelland and Stewart)

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He often applied the geologic to the human, analyzing social change as he would a landscape; slow persuasion and catastrophe. Explosions, seizures, floods, glaciation. He constructed his own historical topography.

She spent the morning sitting on the edge of the bed, toes digging into the carpet. He stayed on his back, arms tucked behind his head and tried not to breathe. While she searched for the words she ran her fingers over her brow, kneading her forehead, lost in rhythmic sensation, stuck in a thought, that she couldn't remember the last time she'd shown herself such care.