Alice woke not feeling quite complete, where fore-evening she felt an aggregate of spirit, thought, skin, and dress, morning left her feeling somewhat amiss–somewhat less.

Where would begin search for the pieces missing? Snatching light sans its bobeche has left hand exposed to burn, but finding self, when not quite complete, may hurt at each body and psyche turn.

Cat’s paw scratches and tugs gown’s lace, directing the lost to an empty bowl. Alice, as no one’s cat-s paw, leaves kit to mouse and continues lighting for ways out her rabbit hole.

Paths retired and hope hopeless, she wonders one last flicker of cogitation: What if resolution requires neither MacGyvering nor more steps, just an adjusted perspective, a tiny shift for a giant illumination? ; )