The great waiting played a part. Inside the vastness, plotting. All that, yes. Prolonged, weary, the exasperation. But at dawn the next day, like a slow ostrich straightening itself out, she was waking up. She awoke to the same intact mystery, opening her eyes she was the princess of the intact mystery. As if the factory whistle had already blown, she dressed in a hurry, downed her coffee in one gulp. Opened the front door.
~ Clarice Lispector, “Preciousness.” The Complete Stories
Credits: Image – Thank you Doug at eclecticitylight