Her thoughts spirals down a staircase of her youth opening into an abandoned store filled with racks and shelves of forgotten joy. She flips through the clearance with hope filling her purse that hangs from one arm while an old, tired shirt dangles loosely from her other. She is flipping and flipping and the colors of the fabrics merge together like the years -- there is the small, pink housecoat, the purple jumper she stained with blackberries, the yellow birthday dress her mother made for her when she turned eight, maybe nine -- and the colors dance into her memory. She lets go of the worn, tired shirt and as it falls to the floor the room begins spinning and spinning and spinning sweeping her into the brilliant colors of her existence, folding and unfolding, like a kaleidoscope twirling towards the sun.