handprints in wet cement

Gentle lips - stained with the now memory of the small critter that had been more than enough of a challenge. no longer swift on her toes, or perhaps she never was. It had been an hours long journey, with the watching eyes of the great horned owl who ever now, simply watched from a distance and did not intervene. She thought at times, that she was being laughed at by him. The ruffling of his feathers when she asked a question, to the way he simply flew off to be absoulutely no help when she needed it. a very ironic creature, all who see's but never does. She used to think of that of her founding father - afterall. her creamy yellow eyes glanced forward, for she realized she had zoned out watching her toes shift in the dewey blades of grass that as a child she used to bravely charge through as if a chariot at war. Exploring with her head high and lips pressed firm - chapped and flakey even in the midst of the season. It made her jump, that sudden listening of another even if briefly. If she had been paying attention, perhaps she would have smelled them beyond the kissing hues of berries that reminded her of home, but for now it was just the memory that pushed her forward in looking for this stranger. Looking was an extreme word, and even for the introverted girl she wasnt sure why she was hunting for someone when frankly she had enjoyed her time alone. "Hello?" She kept distance, clever, a puzzle piece question to the engraving on the table, maples with broad wide leaves inbetween give or take 20ft.