Last time she left Landon it was still summer, and in the blink of an eye, it had become winter.
She wanted to see Sylvan Cheney.
Her mind was a tangled mess of threads, impossible to cut or to sort out.
A gust of wind blew, and she squinted slightly.
Landon was still the same old self, the sky overcast, devoid of much color.
The sun shone weakly on the ground, lazy and listless, with the smell of haze always floating in the air.
From the airport, she went to the hotel.
Fearing he might not want to see her, she chose to stake out the Cheney Residence at night.
The night sky was pitch-black, and it was even darker near the Cheney Residence, but the stars above were clearly visible.
From afar, she saw the lights of the Cheney Residence on, the same old sight she had known for sixteen years.
The roads near the Cheney Residence were lined with flowers and trees, and when the wind blew, it carried the scent of vegetation.
