The light will fail, gloaming then dusk then darkness. The dog will grow infirm and require constant help. The daughter will become stout and inflexible. Each injury she imagines will take root and all the injuries imagined and real will surround her with the palisade of righteousness that prevents old women from seeing their own lawns after a while. Mom will drop in her tracks one day and be carted off to one side or the other of the information superhighway, to wither into binary senselessness. But before all these gnawings of insatiable fate chew through the moment, mom fends off fate. She stalls it a bit. She bags the shadows of the light her daughter shines upon her heart, and even the dog forgets his trajectory for the duration of this skirmish against time.
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