The world whips past me, but I look up. I see blue sky, and clouds that are fluffy and white and drifting past so slowly. The leaves on the trees are completely unfurled now, so shadows dapple the world. A bird flies over me.
It keeps me in a place where I spew it out like rote, like a script I have memorized and speak for someone else. My baby died. I had another daughter. It was a cord accident.