It was the gestures she had made unconsciously that pulsated with the power of her life.  In their utter stillness, I heard each particular singing its lonely, happy song of an ordinary heart alive with air, caressing blood and time and grace as they came and went.  Her palettes embroiled in colors.  Her shoes cuddled by the bed.  Her used tea bag curled tenderly in an empty yogurt cup, dreaming of just one more sip of hot water.  These things re-shaped me.  They were all so very true.