She lingers in the moment, heavy and lissome, then pulls back only reluctantly. Hands trail down shoulders, wing-joints, arms and wrists, and then she grins, equal parts mischief and invitation.

"C'mon, then. Show me what you got," And then she's off. Birds use their wings, downbeat and effort making the transition from dirt to sky, but Shepard's never been so banal. She goes off like a rocket, like a shooting star, flame flickering blue-white at the edges where the wind tears at it and fans it to new heat, new heights.

She's laughing all the way up, completely unrepentant, completely free. Catch her if you can!