….We looked from the window down at the stubble in the field below. As the light framed a patch of weeds the girl began to say how she had fond memories of collecting the dry thistle-heads as a child. We both turned and looked out across the field. I was just think long of what to say, and for a split second my eyes refocused on our reflection in the window. She looked like she was screaming at full volume, her head back and her mouth stretching open, her throat was thick with the air in it and her wide eyes were focused on mine…..