There is a small empty plastic bottle in the river, by the old mill. Someone put her there. She’s spinning and can never leave this few meters of clear water, only float in circles, always the same sand and rocks and water. I think of her while listening to Brams Six Peaces performed by Lang Lang, and I think, my soul, I wonder, can she hear the music? Does she know what I know, that there is no tragedy for us, no relief of grieving and screaming. Everything is always so quiet and all the same. She almost escaped but here she is already again, lost in circles of clear water. No, I think, my soul, she can’t hear the music.