The light that passed through the window showed just how much dust was in the atmosphere, which pirouetted with grace upon the dear air. I used my hand to control the dance. To keep it alive. Each loose strand that fell was a life lost. I gave a story to each strand. I gave them life, meaning. A purpose to stay afloat. A reason to remain in the block of light that fell from the window. It all became remarkably important to me. I was completely engrossed when, in reality, I was merely juggling dust. To Cort, I can’t imagine what this looked like.