Gwenna's life had become a treadmill--a lot of motion to stay in place, and fatigue. A big sleep deficit that could be cured by moving from her house in the suburbs to a place closer to her office and her clinic. It wasn't going to happen. Where was the time to pack up the old and search out the new? A little porcelain saint's statue was not going to change things. She took a large spoon from the pot rack over the kitchen counter, blew the dust off it, and planted the statue in the flower bed by the kitchen door.
Nothing happened. Nothing portended. She should probably dig up the silly statue and leave it at the hospital for people who believed those things. She could do that tomorrow, when she wasn't so tired.
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