I could see a faint tracery of lines around her eyes, silent witness to the fact that she was not quite as young as I originally thought, but not more...than thirty even so. I could see how, in the future, they would deepen, and that the result would still be beautiful, but perhaps more dignified. In age she would be like Ingrid Bergman. It occurred to me to ask if she was Swedish.But concern and worry tinged the beauty. Perhaps there was too much of a difficult life hidden beneath her usual. Right now, she felt stronger then she'd ever felt. She was still shocked. She threw her head back and up into the rain, letting it hit her face to wake her even extending her tongue to taste the water. But it didn't taste like water at all. The rain was thicker then water, the consistency of shampoo or body wash. She opened her eyes. The rain was striking everything, golden droplets leaving little craters where it hit the sand. A nearby picnic table collapsed. The golden shower was eating. More

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