She has a thing for losing things. She also has a thing for jewellery. It follows, of course, that she has a thing for losing jewellery. A nosepin down a drain, or a ring in the sewer, or earrings in the move. Yet she guards heirlooms with her life, holding them deep within the palm of her heart.
She saves them for a stormy night, and a cliff looking over the rocks below. She hopes they will help her find the voices she heard in the autumn, when the nights traded places amongst themselves, and time stretched and turned inside out.
To this day, she looks, but the nosepin, the ring, the earrings, they've all lost shelter in the rains and their mountains in the wind.