She had hidden herself in this quiet, solitary place, alone with only the rhythmic breathing and occasional whinnying of her pony, Morning Glory. Her sister hadn't seen her slip into the barn. She lay in the hay looking up at the sole source of light drifting into the cool, dark barn through the opening of the upper portion of the door.
The smell of decaying leaves under the trees outside the door drifted in on the beams of light. It was a light, musty, fruity, earthy, hard to describe smell. She inhaled more deeply, closed her eyes and imagined seeing those dying leaves lying there beneath the bare branches. Only three short months ago she had been swinging endlessly from a rope swing made by her dad that depended from those very branches.
Suddenly she had a moment she could only describe to herself as magical, holy or supernatural. She was frozen in time, crystallized in an infinite instant of time; the smell and sight of the leaves whirling about with the summer leaves surrounding the rope swing and the sunbeams shining in to light up the darkness. This moment would remain vivid in her soul forever.