The sunshine is getting into everything. It's seeping through windows and illuminating dust flecks that dance in the air. It's making perfect squares of light on the floorboards and filtering through curtains in waves of color. It's even in the shadows—it makes the shadows. Dawny and dusky and dark green or pale blue or as gray as peace.
Now it's creating squares of grey-brown light on the platform of the train station and shining through the dingy glass windows onto the stiff leather seats. The engine exhales steam as she leans out the window, caught between the edge of shadow and sunlight, for one last look. The two forms she is straining to see begin to fade away rapidly as the train jerks into motion and builds up speed, flickering out of the grey station and into full sunlight. She sees a last flash of gold—braided hair—through the opening of the station, and then it is gone, and she sits back into the stiff red seat, thoughtful, that same golden braid and two fiery flecks of golden eyes fanning in snapshots through her mind. So many moments that she's staring into as she hunches her shoulder and leans her head against the window.
The sunshine is getting into everything. It seems to have gotten into her heart.