I don’t know what to make of Clarice. She’s waiting for someone. Or, is she pining over a memory? I think she longs for another time, or maybe another chance. She seems wistful. I see her walking along the seawall wearing one of the vintage costumes she so favors. Today it is a white eyelet Edwardian dress and high topped shoes with black buttons. She fancies lace, vintage handkerchiefs and petticoats. She loves hats, but only wears them when she is alone on her walks. She prefers solitude, yet welcomes the company of someone to share it with. In the evenings she wanders the footpaths, breathing in the night blooming jasmine and evening primrose. She gathers her strength from the beauty of silence and the splendor of the moonlit garden and she thinks, “maybe tomorrow”.